


Family Obligations

by AngiePen



Category: Actor RPF, Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 05:19:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 40,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngiePen/pseuds/AngiePen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sean's little brother has a taste for the ponies but no talent when it comes to choosing winners, and owes a local gangster a lot more money than he can come up with.  Sean agrees to do an "easy job" in payment of the debt -- kidnapping a spoiled young punk named Bloom and hanging on to him while the gangster gets a ransom from the lad's family.  It should've been a simple job, but then things started to get complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AmyGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=AmyGirl).



> Written for AmyGirl's request at LJ Community The_Challenger, in 2007.
> 
> Request: AU Orlibean. Sean is hired to kidnap Orlando who he assumes is a spoiled rich kid who turns out to be anything but, when the ransom isn't paid the order comes down for Sean to kill him. It's a race against time to get them both to safety.

Sean had found himself in a few dodgy situations before, there was no denying it. He'd done a few things that wouldn't stand much scrutiny and even a few things he didn't care to remember himself. A man had to get by and take care of his family and his mates and sometimes he just had to do something and then get on with his business.

This'd seemed like an easy job, though, and a way out of a rough spot. When Jack Merriwether had suggested it -- although mayhap "suggested" wasn't quite the right word, but still -- Sean'd been relieved, actually. Merriwether could be a right bastard and it could've been a lot worse, yeah?

And it was really Tommy's fault at the heart of it. If he'd been able to stay away from the races then none of them would've been in this mess at all. But the thrill of it all'd had a hold of him from the time they were both just lads and their Aunt Tabby'd taken them to the track and placed shilling bets for them. For Sean it'd just been a bit of fun but for Tommy it'd been an intense obsession that'd never left him.

When Tommy'd gotten into it with Merriwether, he hadn't told Sean, or anyone else in the family. Sean and his baby brother had always been close but there had to've been some amount of shame there, 'cause otherwise there'd've been no reason to hide it, yeah? So the first thing Sean'd known of it was when four of Merriwether's boys had come to the shop, gone straight for Tommy and started messing him about.

 

Sean's target made it easy. He'd originally thought he might have to grab the kid on his way home from somewhere, which could get messy, especially if his folks were expecting him. Then he'd found out the boy was a club rat and liked the lads, so Sean -- who fancied a fine arse himself every now and again -- had thought about chatting him up and getting him to come with all calm like, which had the benefit of a willing target but still had the problem with the kid being able to describe him after. Sean'd just as soon not end up in prison when this was done.

Then he'd noticed that the lad ended up in the alley behind the club nearly every night, with one man or another. And he chose some real bastards, too, 'cause save one or two, every one of them fucked him over a rubbish bin or fucked his face or whatever it took to get _them_ off, then walked away and left the lad. He'd stand there for a minute, or kneel or however he was, then pull himself together and head for his car to go home.

That minute, when he was alone and obviously had his mind on other things besides his immediate surroundings, Sean decided that was when he'd take him.

 

Tommy had to've been in a bad way -- Sean knew it at the time. For them to come into the welding shop where Tommy had family and mates had taken some bollocks, right enough, and despite Tommy's denials later, Sean'd been sure that hadn't been the first time they'd worked him over. While two blokes with pistols had held everyone else back, the other two had explained to Tommy just what was going to happen to him if he couldn't come up with at least the interest owed on the money he'd borrowed. Tommy'd babbled something about finding the money, then clutched his chest and collapsed.

Sean had charged forward, ignoring the boys with the guns so it was just as well they'd also been ignoring him just then, and gone on his knees next to his fallen brother. He'd felt his neck like they always did on the telly and there was a pulse, so he'd called to their dad to phone for an ambulance. The four bully-boys had just looked at each other and left.

 

They were still around, though, and there were more where they came from, which was how Sean had ended up leaning against the dirty brick wall in the alley behind the kid's favorite club, lurking in the shadows and waiting for a chance. The agreement had been that if Sean'd do this one job for him (since Tommy was barely out of hospital and in no shape to be doing much of anything just yet) Merriwether would hand over Tommy's notes and they'd all be square.

One easy job and they'd be shut of Merriwether and his goons. And once it was over and done, Sean'd pound on Tommy himself if he ever did anything so daft again.

So the kid and his latest were going at it in a niche across the alley. Sean had watched them come out the back door of the club and pass through a pool of light on their way to the shadowed gap. Tonight's choice was a big bloke with his hair buzzed short and wearing matching studded black leather jacket and trousers that looked brand new, along with his shiny black boots and glittering chrome chains.

Sean rolled his eyes and suppressed a snort. Some pretentious twat, that was, buying an image all off the same rack at a pricey shop. No wonder he'd ended up with young Master Bloom -- anyone with a hint of taste would laugh in his face. Sean hadn't seen any signs that young Bloom had any taste, though, nor even any particular type he went for. Anything male and willing to use him was good enough from what Sean could tell.

He sighed and looked at his watch, careful not to make any sound but impatient for them to finish.

The end came soon enough and Mr. Leather Boutique grunted his way through his climax, then pulled out and punched Bloom in the back of his head. Sean heard a cry of pain and the crack of a skull on brick, then the leather twat sauntered away while doing up his trousers. Bloom collapsed to the pavement, his arms up over his head.

Sean winced and sent a dire thought or two after the twat, but he had business to take care of. Besides, Bloom had brought it on himself for being such a damn fool. And him having had his brains rattled would make it easier on Sean.

He waited until the leather twat was out of sight, then strode across the alley and hooked his hands under Bloom's arms. He lifted him up gently but his voice was harsh when he whispered, "Come along with me, now, and no fussing or I'll finish what yer boyfriend started." Keeping behind him, he marched the staggering kid out of the alley onto a darkened street and around the corner to where Sean had left his car. He could smell alcohol even from behind him; between that and a pair of knocks on the head, he doubted the young man had any idea of where he was or what was happening, which was all right with Sean.

When they got there, he pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket and secured the kid's wrists behind him, then blindfolded him with a woolen scarf. He'd originally planned on putting Bloom up front where he could keep an eye on him but he changed his mind; the kid was in no shape to be causing any trouble and it'd be better if no one saw him anyway.

"You lie down and rest your head," he whispered, helping him into the back seat. "We've a drive ahead of us. Don't give me no trouble and it'll all be over in a couple days."

Bloom just moaned but he lay down like Sean said, curling up as well as he could with the handcuffs on. Good enough.

Merriwether'd given Sean directions to a cottage a ways out of town and the key to the door. Sean was to call him when he got there with the kid and then let Merriwether do the negotiating with the lad's family. That was fine with Sean; the less he had to do with this job the better he liked it. The snatch had gone as smoothly as he'd ever hoped; with any luck the family would pay up quick and it'd all be over soon.

 

Orlando groaned again and tried to brace himself against the back of the seat. It was tough with his hands cuffed behind his back but they'd turned onto a road that felt like it was all ruts and potholes and his head felt like it was about to burst. He almost wished it would, just to be done with it.

He'd been trying to figure out what was going on but it was hard to think. He'd had a few shots and then Bert had fucked him a good one out back but then something had slammed his head against the wall and everything'd gone blurry and loud and painful.

And just to cap it all off, he felt like he was going to vomit.

The cuffs bit into his wrists when he tried to shift and the car lurched over another rut in the road. At least the scarf wrapped around his head helped cushion it a little but he was still feeling like shite warmed over. He didn't mind some kink and Bert had seemed like the sort to go in for it but right now wasn't really a great time. His voice didn't seem to be connected very well, though, and when he'd tried to tell Bert that maybe they could wait for another night, all that'd come out was some random groans. He wondered where they were going but couldn't manage to ask. He wasn't even sure how long they'd been driving.

He thought maybe he'd fallen asleep a few times; his memories of the evening were disconnected, with some weird shit in between. He couldn't really tell, but eventually the car stopped and then the door his feet were pressing against opened and Bert helped him out. Bert's hands were big and solid and strong and tried to help him stand up. That wasn't working, though, and finally he just scooped Orlando up in his arms and carried him.

That was nice. Orlando snuggled against his chest with his face tucked in the crook of Bert's neck. Bert muttered something that sounded annoyed but didn't drop him or anything so that was okay.

He was set down for a moment, swaying on his feet and only upright because of the arm clamped around him, and he heard some rattling and a low curse, then a door creaked open and he was carried inside. A light stabbed through his closed eyelids and his head throbbed. Orlando moaned and tried to curl up tighter, hiding against Bert's chest. They walked for a minute and then Bert set him down on a bed -- which didn't move, not even a little bit -- in a dark room and covered him with a blanket.

Orlando was almost asleep when an arm pushed under his shoulders and lifted him up. Bert whispered, "Come on, now, drink this," and held a glass to his lips. Orlando took a sip. It was water, cool and plain. He drank a couple more sips, then the glass moved away. He murmured a protest and blunt fingers pushed a pair of pills into his mouth.

"Come on, lad, it's aspirin. Swallow." Bert held the water glass up again.

The pills were huge and he had a hard time swallowing them. They dissolved into a gritty, bitter powder before making it all the way down and he eagerly finished the rest of the glass of water, and a second when it was offered.

"There you go," Bert said in a low, whispering voice. "Have a sleep, now, and you'll feel more yourself in the morning."

The last thing Orlando remembered was the feel of a damp cloth dabbing at his aching forehead.


	2. Chapter 2

Sean hadn't planned on sitting up all night to nursemaid a kid who'd had his head rattled. He might be concussed, though, and he'd probably been drinking before the fucking in the alley and Sean remembered something about alcohol being a bad mix with concussions. It depended how bad it was, of course; he'd had his own head thumped a few times in his day and he'd come out none the worse for it, but for whatever reason the Bloom lad gave the impression of being more fragile than Sean himself or any of his mates.

The old ideas about the differences between the nobility and the common rabble bobbed to the surface of his thoughts and he snorted. Fragile, delicate, unsuited to manual labor. Tough enough with a sword or a pistol, at least in the old days when all that had meant something, but quick to cry "gentle breeding" whenever there was real work to be done. Sean's ancestors had been the ones guiding the plow and shaping the sword, while Bloom's ancestors had been the ones sipping tea and collecting taxes.

The "upper class twit" was another image of the nobility, albeit a more modern one. And from what he'd seen, the lad wasn't long on brains, that was for certain. What sort of bloke who had even half a brain in his head would let his lovers treat him the way Bloom was treated?

On the other hand, the lad he'd seen letting lovers use him and toss him away without even a peep of protest didn't precisely square with what Merriwether'd said about him being a spoiled little snot, either. He'd have expected one of that sort to be throwing tantrums if his every whim weren't catered to.

Sean soaked the tea towel in the bowl of cold water one more time, rinsing the blood out of it, then dabbed the last of the dried-on mess off the lad's battered forehead. It was swelling already and he could only hope all the swelling was on the outside and not on the inside. If he ended up needing to haul the lad in to hospital he'd be in a right mess.

He set the basin and towel aside on the battered chest of drawers, then moved to the foot of the double bed and pulled the boy's shoes off. They were expensive trainers from some Yank company with a fancy suede label stitched on. He was half expecting them to have lights or wheels or whatever the hell the kids with too much money and no sense had on their shoes nowadays, but they were just normal shoes.

The jeans came off next, baggy things belted low on his hips so the top of his drawers stuck out for a good handspan. Sean snorted and tossed them over the back of the wooden chair in one corner. The baggy T-shirt didn't look too uncomfortable so he decided to leave it

He replaced the blanket and walked back out to the living room while glancing at his watch to note the time. He'd wake the lad up in a couple of hours just to make sure he could. Now, though, it was time to call Merriwether and let him know he could get on with the business end of things.

 

By noon the next day, Sean had discovered a couple of things. First, that the Bloom kid was groggy and pissy when woken up, every time. Second, that he himself wasn't really cut out for sitting about in a strange place with a bloke he'd kidnapped with nothing to do but wait on someone else.

Oh, and he'd also learned that the fridge didn't work. Which was just bloody wonderful, 'cause they had bugger-all in the cupboards and it gave him one more reason to hope Merriwether would speed things up.

Sean was playing solitaire with a greasy deck of cards he'd found in a drawer. It was missing the four of clubs, but one managed with what one had and he'd even won a couple of games by simply granting himself the missing card whenever a slot for it came up and otherwise getting on with the game. He was sitting there wishing the ace of hearts would show up some time when he heard a thready voice calling from the bedroom.

With a detour into the kitchen for a glass of water and two more pills, Sean headed into the bedroom. The lad had squirmed up into a sitting position against the wall at the head of the bed and was cocking his head as though trying to listen.

"Bert?" Bloom shifted and moved his still-cuffed wrists back and forth a few times. "Could you get me out of all this, please? I'm sorry but I'm a bit uncomfortable."

Sean smirked and asked, "Who's Bert, now?" letting his Northern dialect thicken slightly with some thought toward disguising his voice. "I didn't think your head got coshed all that hard." He moved over next to the bed and set the water down on the night table, then slid an arm behind the lad's shoulders, the pills in his other hand.

"Bert?" The kid shrank away, trying to put as much distance between himself and Sean as leaning would allow. It wasn't much. "Who are you? Where's Bert?"

"Never you mind about m'name," Sean said. "And I've no idea who Bert is but he was never here. Now, take some aspirin and I've got water." He tugged the boy closer, pressed the pills into his mouth, then reached behind him for the glass. Bloom tried to say something but cut himself off and swallowed the pills and water first.

He coughed, then leaned away again and said, "Bert was with me last night." He didn't sound quite so sure anymore and Sean noticed he was moving his head as little as possible while speaking in a low voice, barely above a whisper. "We met at the Dark Room and he brought me here, carried me in?"

Sean snorted. "Oh, you mean Mr. Leather Boutique? The twat who fucked you into the wall, then bashed your head into it and wandered off? That was Bert?"

"He...? Wait--" Even with his eyes covered, Sean could tell the lad was confused and trying to remember. _"Bert_ hit me?"

"That he did." Sean noticed the lad flinch and lowered his voice. "I were watchin' from across the way. Bashed you up good. I brought you here m'self."

"Why? Who are you?"

"Whyever does someone get nabbed, lad? It's money, that's all. Bloke I work for, as soon as your da pays up, I'll get a call and we'll let you go good as new. Or at least as good as you were when _I_ got to you -- the head is between you and your Bert."

The Bloom kid seemed to shrink into himself, his shoulders lifting and his knees drawing up a little farther. "What-- umm, what if my father doesn't want to pay?"

Sean cocked his head and scowled down at the huddled figure beside him. The question had never come up before and he didn't really want to think about it. "That's a daft question and you'd better hope you never need to know the answer."

A weak laugh was his only response.

Huh. Was the lad enough of a wanker that his own family'd let him rot with a gang of kidnappers rather than pay to have him back? Sean couldn't imagine such a thing, even if he _was_ the conceited little prick he'd been reported to be, and actually Sean hadn't seen much sign of that. No judgement, aye that, and no taste in men at all, and from what Sean had seen while watching him and planning the grab he had a lazy, self-indulgent sort of life, all bars and clubs and what-not. The lad had probably never done a day's work in his life but Sean didn't think that was likely to be a major problem with that sort of family. Certainly not enough for them to abandon him the way he seemed to think they might.

And there was no sign of the demanding selfishness he'd expected. Of course, between the drink and the banging up, he likely wanted naught but quiet and sleep just then.

At least he had the brains not to whine about the cuffs or the scarf, now that he knew his situation.

Sean asked, "Yeh hungry?" even though he doubted he would be.

The lad said, "No, thank you." He paused a few seconds and "looked" away as though embarassed before adding, "I do have to use the loo, though."

Aaaand that was one more thing Sean hadn't thought through. Why couldn't Merriwether've found himself an experienced kidnapper, someone who'd just know all these things and not be left flailing about when they came up?

He growled a curse at himself. The kid shrank away even more and Sean reached out to pat his shoulder, if a bit awkwardly. "It's fine, I should've thought." He didn't answer and Sean stared at him for a bit and considered. Finally he said, "Look, now, the scarf is there for your protection as well as mine, yeah? If y'see me, if yeh can identify me or even describe me, then I'd have to kill yeh, right? I don't want to have t'do that and you likely don't want me to have t'do that either so if I let your hands loose can I trust yeh to be smart and not mess with the scarf?"

The lad nodded vigorously, then gasped in pain and stopped. "I understand and I promise," he whispered, still wincing.

"All right, then." Sean stood and helped the lad up. He was wobbly on his feet, like his balance was gone; that was likely the knock on the head. They made it to the loo and Sean helped him find the facilities. When Sean'd been in the room before he'd noticed that the window casing had been painted over at least once; he was sure enough that he'd hear any escape attempt in good time to dash in and haul the lad back inside that he left him alone to do his business, although he left the door open.

It took him a few minutes but Sean didn't hear anything alarming and by the time the boy called out for Sean to come fetch him, Sean was feeling more relaxed about having him free. Even moreso when he saw that the scarf was still in place and the lad had his back to him with his wrists held out, obviously expecting to be cuffed again.

Sean frowned down at the offered wrists, then said, "Hang on, I'll be back in one," and headed back out to prowl around the cottage, examining the furniture and fixtures. There was no _good_ place, really, but if he moved the old stuffed chair over to the corner near the kitchen, there was that pipe running up the wall.... The cottage looked to've been built before things like electricity and running water were standard, at least in the countryside up there in Yorkshire, and it'd been modernized by running pipes and wires along the walls.

He went back to the bedroom and asked, "Do you need to lie down again or would you be good sitting up?"

"Umm, either way." The lad sounded a mite confused but wasn't fussing. "I can sit up if I need to."

"Y'don't _need_ to," Sean said patiently, "but if yeh don't mind it then y'can sit in an armchair and I can just lock one wrist to a pipe on the wall. How's that, then?"

"That'd be just fine, thank you," Bloom murmured.

"All right, then." Sean guided him over to the chair with one arm around his waist, watching that he didn't run into anything on account of not being able to see nor topple over on account of being dizzy. He got him settled, turned the chair a bit so the pipe was in a good position, then cuffed his left wrist to it.

"There," he said, looking the lad up and down. "That should be better. Are yeh hungry yet? We don't have much, just some tinned stuff, but I can heat up some beans if you like."

Bloom was silent for a few seconds and Sean could imagine him trying to figure out just how he was feeling and whether or not anything he ate would come back up. Finally he said, "I should probably eat something, yes. Thank you."

Sean shook his head while heading over to the cupboard. This was the politest "rich snot" he'd ever run across. Not that he'd known many, but still. Not that he was complaining or anything, but it was odd. He didn't like odd, especially in this sort of situation.

 

Orlando sat in his chair and tried not to move his left hand too much. The cuffs rattled against the pipe whenever he did and he could just imagine the kidnapper glaring over at him, suspicious that he was trying to escape.

Not that he had much chance of escaping. He was frightened to death, and hurting and dizzy and still a bit sick to his stomach, and it was taking all his concentration to just maintain his cool, to not sink into a raving panic and start begging for his life. Because that was the only way he was going to come out of this alive, he just knew it; the idea that his father would actually pay any amount of money for his return was laughable.

The honest truth was that his father would like nothing better than to be rid of him. His mother might protest but she was firmly under her husband's heel and she'd stay silent no matter what he decided. He'd probably break out the champagne as soon as they got the ransom note or call or however kidnappers did it these days, and make her drink a toast along with him.

Eventually his captor would hear from his employer that there was no money coming and that would be that. Orlando had no idea what he'd do then. Aside from be murdered, at any rate. The man who was holding him seemed a decent sort of person, for a kidnapper, and he wondered if he'd actually be able to murder someone in cold blood, someone who'd never done him any harm. Orlando didn't think so, but he had to admit to himself that it was probably wishful thinking.

He had literally nothing to lose, though. He had to think of something soon.


	3. Chapter 3

The Bloom kid was still sleeping a lot, curled up in his chair with one wrist dangling from the pipe. Sean kept waking him up every two or three hours, made sure he was reasonably lucid and fed him more aspirin if he seemed to be in pain. By dinner time the lad was feeling hungry again, which Sean took as a good sign. Likely it was the hangover wearing off, leaving just the concussion.

He still needed steadying as well as guiding on trips to the loo and Sean figured that'd probably last a few days yet; the one time in a brawl he'd gotten hit in the head hard enough to go to a doctor he'd been dizzy on and off for nearly a week. The doctor hadn't wanted to keep him in hospital, though -- he'd just prescribed some pills to help with the dizziness some. Bloom wasn't doing a whole lot of walking and whenever he did, Sean was right there to hold him up, so he figured -- was hoping really hard, truth to tell -- that just riding it out without any actual medical attention wouldn't hurt the lad any.

Sean cooked up some noodles and mixed in a can of tuna. His mum had always melted cheese on top when she'd made this sort of dish but the cheddar in the fridge didn't look too good. He eyed it dubiously, then found a knife in a drawer and cut the block in half. It looked just fine on the inside and when he sniffed it, it smelled... well, cheesy. Pretty strong, but he'd always liked strong cheese anyway.

He shrugged and sliced off the greening outer edges, then cut up the middle and tossed it on top before putting the whole mess into the oven. It still didn't look quite like what his mum made, but it should be edible.

When it was done -- that is, when the cheese had melted -- he dished some up into a bowl, grabbed a spoon and a tea towel and brought it all over to Bloom's chair. He shook the lad awake, then spread the towel on his lap, set the bowl on it and put the spoon into his free hand. "I thought you might want to feed yourself this time," he muttered, looking away. He'd fed the lad his beans earlier, one forkful at a time, but he seemed to be feeling better now and Sean wouldn't have wanted anyone feeding _him_ like a baby any longer than necessary. The kid nodded thanks and poked awkwardly at the bowl in his lap. Sean left him to it, figuring he'd get it with practice.

He filled his own bowl and sat at the small table, facing the lad's chair so he could keep an eye on him.

What he saw made him wince more than once. Obviously blind folks had some sort of trick to it, or got some training or whatever. And of course, most of them had two hands to work with. By the time Sean was done with his own food -- and he ate faster as he got closer to finishing -- most of the Bloom kid's dinner had fallen down onto his shirt or into the tea towel on his lap.

Sean set aside his own bowl and dragged his chair over next to the lad. "I'm sorry," he muttered, feeling some need to apologize for whatever reason. "I thought ye'd rather do it yourself but this isn't working too well, is it?" He took the spoon out of the boy's hand and worked on scraping what was salvageable back into the bowl.

"I'm sorry. I tried, I really did, I just can't quite manage it." The lad was all but whispering and seemed ashamed of his failure to feed himself. His shoulders were hunched up as though he expected Sean to smack him for it.

"It's all right, don't worry over it." Sean patted him awkwardly on the arm, then wiped his greasy hand off on his trousers. "Here, open up." He spooned some noodles and cheese into the boy's mouth, then waited while he chewed and swallowed.

"Thank you," the lad said, in between bites. "It's quite good."

Sean snorted and shoveled in another spoonful. "It's tasteless dreck, is what it is, but it's filling and it's better than beans again." There wasn't exactly a wide selection of food, much less of seasonings. Sean wasn't exactly a fancy cook but even his own bachelor skills were limited by the barren kitchen.

The kid swallowed and gave him a sort of half smile. "Maybe I'm just really hungry."

"That must be it," Sean agreed. He gave him another mouthful, then added, "They say that hunger is the best spice, yeah? Yeh didn't eat much of the beans and likely hadn't eaten for a while before that, so I guess this is tasting pretty spicy."

The lad made a snorking sound and his head jerked a couple of times. Sean stared at him in alarm, afraid he was choking, but he managed to swallow and then giggled. The light sound made Sean smile in relief.

"Yes, I think it is at that." He smiled up at Sean, sharing the humor. Sean hadn't thought it was all that funny a joke, but the lad's life had been pretty tense lately, likely even frightening, and he supposed that even a bit of a laugh to lighten things up might seem like a huge relief. Or something like that.

When they were done he dumped the dishes in the sink and filled them with water. He'd wash up later but just then he needed to get his charge cleaned up some. He wet down another tea towel, then went back to the easy chair and pulled out the handcuff key.

"I'm going to unlock your arm so I can get your shirt off -- it needs a wash. It's not too cold in here so you should be fine for a bit." The lad nodded and stayed quiet while Sean released him and tugged the soiled T-shirt over his head. He used the towel to wipe up the kid's face and hands, along with a few patches of grease that'd soaked through his shirt onto his chest. The smooth skin under his fingers, even through the damp towel, was, well, distracting. Sean couldn't help thinking what it'd be like to be touching him without the towel between them -- and without a lot of other things between them as well -- but he managed to keep it to himself.

He thought about locking the lad back up when he'd finished, then shrugged and said, "You behave, now. I'll be back in a few." He walked away, over to the bathroom, his footsteps clear on the wooden floors. He stood in front of the sink and ran the water until it was hot, watching out the door all the while. There was a straight view of the boy's chair from the bathroom sink and he'd have known in half a second if he'd tried anything, but he just sat there, not touching his scarf nor even trying to get up. He rubbed his arm and shoulder as though they ached, though. No surprise there -- he was likely feeling pretty stiff after all this time with his arm in one position like that.

When the water heated up, Sean filled the sink and went to work on the shirt with a bar of soap. It didn't suds up all that well but it was good enough to get the worst of the grease off. He rinsed it out and wrung it as best he could, then hung it over the shower curtain to dry.

The washing up still needed to be done so Sean got to it. While moving around the kitchen, he kept an eye on the Bloom kid--

"Hey? Bloom? What's your name anyway?" Sean'd been calling him "Bloom" and "kid" and all in his head ever since Merriwether'd given him the job but it felt odd now. The way he was taking care of the lad reminded him of babysitting for Tommy when he'd been younger, doing all the cooking and washing up because Tommy was too little. Merriwether'd told him the boy's first name but he'd forgot somewhere along the line.

"It's Orlando." Orlando paused and then added, "Sir," when it became clear that Sean still wasn't willing to share his own name.

"Orlando, then. I were just wondering."

Sean went back to the dishes. Orlando. Better than "the Bloom kid" at least.

 

Later that evening, Sean was back at the table playing solitaire with the fifty-one card deck. Orlando was still sitting curled up in his chair, his arms wrapped around his middle. Sean thought of offering him a blanket but he didn't look cold -- there was no gooseflesh visible and he wasn't shivering -- and the temperature was a mite warm for the season if anything. Rather, he looked like he was just sitting in his own world, silent and dark. Listening, mayhap, waiting to see if Sean would approach him, tell him it was time to do something, move somewhere.

There was no doubt in Sean's mind that the lad -- Orlando -- would do it, too, no matter what he asked of him, whatever he demanded. He'd been quiet and patient and no bother at all, or at least no more than he could help, being blindfolded and stuck in one spot, even if not chained there anymore. If Sean had ever imagined kidnapping anyone, he'd not have thought that the victim would be anywhere near this cooperative.

Tommy sure wouldn't have. Tommy'd been a right handful as a youngster, dashing about and getting into everything, asking endless questions, making messes and breaking things and charging off to the next disaster -- sometimes Sean'd thought the brat did it deliberately, whenever their parents had gone out and left Sean in charge, just for the fun of watching Sean scramble around trying to tend to everything and get it all sorted out before Mum and Da got home.

And yet for all the trouble he'd been, for all the trouble he was _now,_ Sean couldn't imagine wanting to be rid of him. He wasn't a _bad_ lad, even with the gambling and all the related foolishness, even with Sean sitting there in a cottage with a kidnap victim and himself a felon if anyone ever found out about it -- for all that, he still wouldn't want to lose his brother.

So how then could Orlando's family ever want to be rid of him? Or just not want him back enough to be willing to pay whatever was asked? Assuming they could -- maybe that was the problem. Maybe Merriwether thought they'd more money than they did; it was possible they'd had some hard times and were putting on a good show for the look of it but were actually deep in debt themselves.

But Orlando hadn't asked what if his da _couldn't_ pay, he'd asked what if his da didn't _want_ to pay. That was two different things, clearly.

For all Merriwether'd insisted Orlando was a stuck-up little snot, though, Sean hadn't seen it, not a bit. Granted the boy was probably frightened and that could improve anyone's manners, but it was hard to completely hide a truly nasty nature and by now Sean would've expected to've seen _some_ sign of his charge's inner selfishness, some shred of attitude. But he'd not even whined and he'd had more cause than many.

Sean gave the battered deck a last shuffle and set them aside, then sauntered over to the living room. He flopped down on the sofa, making sure the lad could hear him, and said, "So, what's the story, then? Why d'you think your Da won't be wanting to pay to get you back?"

Orlando'd jumped a bit when he heard the sofa cushions wheeze and the frame creak, then settled back down in his chair. He wrapped his arms tighter around himself and brought one hand up so he could chew on a knuckle. He shrugged and said, "We just haven't agreed on very much, not for the last few years."

Sean snorted disbelief. "It takes more than a bit of a disagreement to make a man glad to see the last of his oldest son. And it's not like you're catching a boat for the Antipodes -- my employer's a nasty sort and he's likely to have you killed if he don't get what he wants and he'll certainly let your da know of his intentions. So you're saying he'd let you be murdered rather than part with some cash, all because you've disagreed?"

Orlando shrugged again. He'd pulled his knees up and he wrapped his arms around them and pillowed his scarf-wound head on top. "Some disagreements are larger than others," he murmured, so quietly Sean could barely hear him.

"But what--?"

Just then Sean's mobile beeped, interrupting him. He pulled it out, saw that it was Merriwether and got up to answer it in the bathroom, where he could still keep an eye on Orlando but could speak softly enough that the conversation would be private.

"Yeah?"

Merriwether got right to the point and said, "The family is being difficult. I need a finger to help persuade them."

 

Orlando had spent the day just sitting and thinking. He wondered what was going to happen to him and thought about how he'd gotten here and whether he could've done anything any differently to have prevented all... all this. Probably not. If the kidnappers just wanted money then whatever'd made them settle on Orlando as a target would likely still've been there, but maybe if he and his father had gotten along, it would've been like his captor had said -- an exchange of cash for Orlando and then all's done.

He had hopes, though, that the man holding him wouldn't kill him, whether the ransom were paid or not. He hadn't been like any kidnapper Orlando had ever imagined, and growing up in a wealthy family he _had_ imagined being kidnapped before, from the time he was very small.

The reality was different, though. He'd been fed and taken care of, and the only damage done him had been caused by Bert, if he could believe a kidnapper. Unfortunately he thought he likely could, since Bert hadn't been terribly polite even when they were negotiating their encounter in the alley.

And how could he disbelieve that voice? He'd hung on his captor's every word, as few as they'd been over the last day, letting that rough-honey voice roll over him, low and dark and intimate. Orlando had some fuzzy memories of being carried and some much clearer memories of a strong arm around him, guiding him and helping him balance when the world lurched and swayed.

He fully realized he was being ridiculous, that the man was a criminal and cared for him only as a commodity to be stolen from his rightful owners and then sold back to them. Except that someone who saw him only as a thing from which to make money would have no reason to hand feed him -- handing him a bowl and telling him to use his fingers if he wanted to eat would've been easier and just as effective. Nor had he any reason to care whether Orlando's face was clean or whether his shirt got washed.

Orlando knew it was stupid but he felt cared for and he couldn't help grasping onto that because it was the only hope he had of getting through this situation alive. Surely the man's employer, whoever he was, couldn't be the sort who'd order someone like Orlando killed in cold blood, not if he were the sort to hire someone like the man who'd been taking care of him? A cold bastard would surround himself with other cold bastards, men who could and would follow whatever orders he gave no matter what. Orlando couldn't believe that of the man who'd brought him here and looked after him so well.

And when he asked why Orlando's father wouldn't want to pay for his return, he'd seemed genuinely puzzled, rather than simply angry as one might expect of someone who was only concerned with whether or not he was going to get his money.

He'd been trying to think how to explain what was really a petty and sordid family matter when he'd heard a phone ring, and then his captor had walked away. A few moments later, a bellowed "Like hell!" echoing across the room made him jump in shock.

Now what?!


	4. Chapter 4

Sean snapped his phone shut and restrained himself from putting a fist through the wall.

He'd managed to persuade Merriwether that a lock of hair and a piece of jewelry would do for a first threat but when the bastard had hung up on him he'd been left wondering whether it'd actually been his persuasion that'd done the trick or whether Merriwether'd been playing Sean for some reason of his own. His dinner sat in his belly like a stone and threatened to make a reappearance. He sat down on the toilet and rested his face in his hands.

This was growing and twisting and was turning into something Sean wanted no part of. The kidnapping itself'd been bad enough, right about on the edge of what he'd have been willing to agree to. But the idea'd been that no one would get hurt -- he'd grab the kid, sit on him for a bit and then cut him loose to go back to his life of being a useless rich snot and none the worse for it, maybe with a story to impress his mates.

But looking back now, he had to wonder if that'd ever been what Merriwether'd had in mind. Had he _ever_ planned for it to be a quick catch-and-release? What if Orlando's da did change his mind and paid the ransom -- what'd the twisty bastard order then?

Sean knew that in films the kidnappers always went to kill the victim after they'd got their money but he'd no idea whether that was true or how often. He'd never known anyone who'd been kidnapped, nor paid much attention when there was a mention in the papers or on the telly; it wasn't part of his world and he'd had his own concerns.

He'd been careful not to let Orlando see him but would Merriwether believe that? Would he even care?

He glanced up at the closed door in the direction of Orlando's chair and admitted that he honestly couldn't swear Orlando hadn't seen him at all, at least from the back or from a sharp angle, not for the last day or so since he'd left the lad's hands free. He could've snuck a peek with Sean none the wiser if he were quick and clever about it.

A moan escaped, muffled in Sean's palms. He'd tried to be reasonable and look after the lad, let him be as comfortable as he could be and all, and now he might end up with Merriwether insisting he be murdered for it.

I'm no good at this! He rubbed his forehead with the heels of his hands and tried to think. I manage a welding shop. I'm not a kidnapper nor any other kind of criminal and I don't know the rules nor how it all works and the lad's going to end up dead if I can't think of something.

For that matter, he'd no guarantee he himself was safe. He and Orlando might end up sharing a grave once Merriwether was done with the both of them.

And he didn't know enough about the situation to know if he were tipping over into paranoia or if he'd learned enough to finally be thinking smart.

He thought about just putting Orlando in the car and taking him home. That'd end it right there and if none of them were arrested afterwards then Merriwether'd know for sure that the lad couldn't identify any of them -- he'd have no reason to hurt him then. That'd be all fine for Orlando but it'd still leave Sean and his family to deal with a right pissed off Merriwether and he doubted the bully-boys'd stop with just threatening if Sean crossed their boss, on top of Tommy owing money.

No, it'd be better if Merriwether got what he wanted, at least as much of it as Sean was ready to allow him.

The first thing was to figure out how to get Orlando's father to pay the ransom. Once that was done, everything else was details and Sean thought -- hoped, prayed if he were in a praying habit -- he could work out the rest so Orlando ended up back home safe and clearly a threat to nobody. Then the job'd be done and Tommy'd be clear and Sean could go back to the shop and his worst worry'd be collecting on that overdue council job or the oxy delivery coming late again.

Right, then. He needed more information.

He got up and headed back out to the living room. Orlando was curled up in his chair, his arms wrapped around his middle in a way Sean'd come to recognize as nervous or even scared.

Sean settled back into his chair and said, "I need to know what's up with you and your Da. We've got to work out some way t'fix this 'cause he's got to pay the ransom or it's all going to get messy."

Orlando just sat quiet and still for a bit, then shook his head. "It's not something I can fix."

"How about if you tell me what the brangle's about at least?" Sean coaxed. He was hoping that his outside angle might spot something the people closer to the problem had missed. It was really the only hope he had so he hung on to it with grim determination.

Another few moments of silence went by, then Orlando said, "I'm gay. You know that. My father can't accept it. He was raised in an environment saturated with family duty and dignity and putting on a solid, respectable face to the outside and he can't understand why I won't just marry a proper young woman and father the next heir."

Sean frowned and cocked his head. He knew plenty of people who weren't exactly friendly toward homos -- he'd had to deal with a few of them himself, although he liked the ladies as well and was reasonably discreet about his lads for his family's sake -- but Orlando's father seemed like a throw-back. "Are you an only child, then?" he asked. "No one else to carry on the family line? No brothers or cousins to go into the family business or whatever your da's so concerned after?"

Orlando shrugged. "My father had a younger brother who had two sons. My cousin William, the oldest, is married to a very nice young lady who's expecting a baby boy in the fall, but the title's entailed. My father is the Viscount Rasley -- you knew that, right?"

Sean nodded, then caught himself and said, "Aye. So you get the title no matter what your da thinks, then -- he can't just say his nephew gets it. And if you've a manor house or a castle or summat? I suppose that frosted his bum."

Orlando's lips twitched in a smirk for a moment before he nodded, unknowingly echoing Sean's gesture. "A large house and some park land, yes. Most titles _are_ entailed, and the family seats, but in our case the family business is as well." He paused and frowned as though trying to figure out where to start, then said, "When the third Viscount married Miss Agatha Maddock in 1801, it was purely for her money. Her father was an ironmonger who'd grown a very successful steel mill and had invested in the Duke of Bridgewater's canal scheme as well. It was the sort of socially shameful marriage many noblemen near bankrupcy were contracting at the time. Mr. Maddock was a shrewd man and one of his conditions was that when his only daughter's oldest son inherited the Maddock business, that it be added to the entail. He wanted to guarantee that his wealth would always go to his blood."

"So you can't even be cut off without an income, then."

"No, at least not forever -- once he's gone, I'll inherit regardless. Despite what my father might wish, I'm going to be the next Viscount Rasley _and_ the next majority owner of British Western Steel, unless I fall in front of a omnibus before my father dies." His blind face "looked" away and he shrugged. "Or unless I'm murdered by kidnappers."

"Then it'd be your cousin stepping up and your da getting what he wants." Sean scowled, then shook his head. "But still, would he do nothing and let you die? I can't think of any man turning his back on his blood and letting him be killed if he could've prevented it, no matter what he might think of the lad's tastes in sex."

"I... I don't know." Orlando's voice sounded hollow and stiff, as though he were trying very hard to maintain a calm face. "I wouldn't have thought so before but things have been worse lately. Before, we could at least be civil to each other but even that's deteriorated over the last few months and now he truly seems to hate me. I really don't think he'll pay. Letting you-- the-- your employer--" he stuttered over the term, "some random kidnappers get rid of me would remove the single largest problem in his life."

Sean had to believe it, or at least believe that Orlando believed it. There's none so queer as folks, he thought to himself, gazing blindly out a window into the darkness. Can't say it's impossible.

Still, he tried, "And he can't accept that your cousin will inherit eventually, or your cousin's lad, when you're gone? It'll take a mite longer but it'll be the same in the end."

"No. Having a Viscount Rasley who refuses to 'do his duty to the family' and 'present a respectable front' is too great a stain on the honor of the name for him to bear without fussing."

"Fussing." That was a good word for it. Sean sat and glared at his reflection on the window, silently thinking.

 

Sean'd made tea, as much to give himself a few minutes to think and something to do with his hands while he did it as anything else. He pressed a mug into Orlando's hands and settled back down with his own, straddling the wooden chair with the mug resting on the back.

He'd decided to confide in Orlando, at least up to a point. He'd felt twitchy about this whole deal all along and since his phone call with Merriwether in particular he was fair sure that he was on the wrong side. But neither could he just switch. He was stuck as much as the lad, even if there were no one actually forcing him to stay. At least, no one within arm's reach.

But he needed the lad to understand and mayhap between the two of them they could figure something out.

So he said, "Look, then, here's how it happened..." and explained about Tommy and the races and his debts. About the threats and the heart attack -- "And as soon as he's well again, his Katie's likely to put him back in hospital for bringing this down upon us," -- and Merriwether's offer, and what he'd demanded when he'd rung. He still gave no names, of course, because ignorance was the lad's best shield now, weak though it was. But he needed him to understand what was happening and why.

When he was done, Sean shrugged and said, "I'd never've agreed in the first place if I'd known anyone'd be getting hurt, much less that I'd be expected to do it. I managed to talk him down but he's sending one of his bully-boys over to collect the stuff to send to your folks and after that I'm out of ideas but we need to think of something." He muttered a curse into his mug and took a sip. "It weren't supposed to be like this, yeah? I were s'posed to grab some spoiled little rich brat and sit on him for a couple days until the money were paid and then dump yeh back out none the worse. But it's all gone pear-shaped and we need to think of something."

Orlando'd rested his head on the upholstered back of the chair while listening. His knees were drawn up again and his arms wrapped round them with the tea mug perched on top. Sean saw his shoulders twitch as though he were silently laughing for a moment, and he said, "That's what my father's been calling me. A 'spoiled little brat,' as though I'd decided to be gay just to spite him. As though I could choose to obey him and just change somehow and everything would be fine if only I were a good son and cared at all about my duty to my family."

And... there was something about that, something that was setting off a faint bell in the back of Sean's head. It was significant somehow, he just knew it, but before he could think of how, he heard the crunch of tires outside.

"Bugger it, they're here already! Fookin' hell!" Sean set his mug down on the floor hard enough to splash, grabbed Orlando's out of his hands and did the same with it, then grabbed the lad by the arm and hustled him toward the bedroom. Orlando was still dizzy, and confused besides, and after he'd whacked his knee against the sofa, Sean just swung him up into his arms and carried him the rest of the way, dumping him on the bed with a bounce.

The cuffs were still on the battered dresser and he snapped them back onto Orlando's wrists behind his back. "Yeh've been here, just like that, the whole time, yeah?" Sean hissed in a harsh whisper. "Just lie there and look frightened and don't say a bloody word unless you have to. You don't know anything, you're a rich little twit without a brain to call your own and _no threat to anyone,_ right?"

Orlando gave a jerky nod, doing a good job of looking frightened. Sean had a feeling the lad wasn't acting but that was fine for now. He turned and left him, making it back out to the main room just in time to answer the banging on the door.

 

The sudden whirlwind shuffle'd caught Orlando off balance. Or off guard, rather; he was always off _balance_ recently. The room had swayed around him when his captor had yanked him to his feet and he'd been about to fall when the man had scooped him up and carried him.

He'd just realized that there was another associate of the boss kidnapper's approaching outside -- and most likely one who wouldn't have any problems with hurting him, being a career type criminal rather than one who was temporarily moonlighting at it, if he could believe what he'd just been told -- and his heart had lurched with a sudden fear he hadn't felt since he'd woken up and first realized his situation. He'd stifled a strong desire to cling to his captor; his earlier belief that this man was his only protection had returned in force, especially now that one of the "real" criminals was on his way in.

Instead he'd managed to just stay quiet and let himself be carried and dropped and turned and manipulated. The cuffs were snapped on tight enough to pinch but he'd just winced and stayed quiet. He'd nearly laughed at the hurriedly whispered instructions; he didn't need any coaching to act like he was scared, not at all. The man pulling up outside worked for someone who'd casually ordered one of his fingers cut off and most likely this new one wasn't the sort who'd hesitate to carry out the order. For all he knew, the man was here to override his captor's reluctance and do the job as originally commanded, despite what the boss kidnapper'd been persuaded to agree to earlier on the phone.

All he could do was lie there, tense and hoping, and try not to let the fear overwhelm him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Yes, I know that property entailments can be broken nowadays and most have been already. Consider this another aspect of the AU if you like; I've always liked entailments in historicals because of how well they help twist and complicate things. My thanks for your indulgence in my use of it here. :D


	5. Chapter 5

The dark, forty-ish man who pushed his way in as soon as Sean had opened the door was actually someone Sean recognized. His name was Donny and he was one of Merriwether's low-level lieutenants. He was about Sean's height and husky, but with a gut to him and a round, soft face that came from a good decade or more of having other boys to do his leg-breaking for him.

He stood as though he intended to take over the space, his eyes sweeping the room. He smirked at Sean and in a too-loud voice said, "Hey there, Sh--"

Sean body-slammed him into the wall, one hand clamped over the idiot's mouth. Blokes like this, they understood only two things, fear and power, and he'd given Sean the perfect opening to prove he was a player in this game and not just another chip.

"Do _not_ say my name," he hissed, letting all his anger surge up into his voice and show on his face. "The boy hasn't seen me and doesn't know my name and it's going to stay that way." He didn't bother making any threats. He let Donny jerk against him a few times, just enough to make it clear that Sean -- who still worked for a living -- was the stronger of the two, then took a quick step back and released him, still glaring.

Donny glared back and twitched as though he were thinking of going for Sean. Sean just stood there, ready. Part of him was actually hoping the bastard would try it -- he'd a lot of frustration and stress packed inside him and a good brawl would be a welcome way of letting it all out.

The other man didn't take it past a nasty look, though. He was alone and probably hadn't had to deal with anything like this by himself for a while. Sean might not be a professional knee-capper but he was large enough and strong, and he'd run the streets as a lad. He was dangerous enough and he was clearly past the edge of angry. Donny backed down.

He straightened his coat, still glaring right into Sean's eyes. They both knew he'd been the one to refuse the fight but he was going to pretend he hadn't submitted and that it didn't matter anyway. Sean was good with that, so long as the fucker knew not to mess with him.

"I'll go get the stuff, then, and you can get back to your boss." Sean gave the man a hard look, then turned his back and walked over to the bedroom. He was hoping the fucker'd stay put but no such luck; after a moment he heard footsteps at his back.

The hairs at his nape prickled and he half expected to feel a knife between his ribs or at least a knee to the kidney but he made it into the bedroom all right. Orlando was still exactly where Sean had left him and he was tense and trembling, projecting fear like nobody's business. Either the kid had an unsuspected talent for acting or he was truly terrified.

Sean pulled a folding knife out of his pocket and chose the smallest blade. He used it the least and so it was the sharpest. He gave Orlando an encouraging wink while his back was to the door, then snarled, "Stay still or I'll cut yeh," before grabbing one of the lad's curls sticking out from under the scarf, tugging it out straight and cutting it off in one clean slice. The soft hair wound gently around his fingers and he felt a fleeting wish that he could keep it.

He shot a look over his shoulder to where Donny was leaning in the doorway, his arms crossed, smirking at Orlando's awkward, handcuffed sprawl on the bed. "Did yeh bring somethin'? Bag, envelope?"

Donny just looked at him, one eyebrow raised.

Sean sneered back at him and thought for a bit, then headed into the bathroom. There was a stack of ancient magazines on the back of the toilet and that'd do. He hated leaving Orlando alone with the fucker but he couldn't help it and couldn't show he minded.

He grabbed a magazine off the top of the stack and tore a page out of it. He folded it in half, slipped the brown curl into it and folded it again. That'd do and if not then that was Donny's look-out.

He strode back into the bedroom. Donny'd moved over to the side of the bed and was looking down at Sean's lad with a gleam in his eye that made Sean's lip curl and his fist clench. He barked, "Move!" and shoved in between Donny and the bed. "Here." He put the folded page into the man's hand, then turned his back on him again and put one knee on the bed to lean over Orlando.

The lad wore a couple of pendants and he figured one of them'd do. And it wasn't as if he'd never get it back either -- it was going to his parents and it'd be waiting for him at home when this mess was done and over with.

Sean grabbed his shoulder and yanked, pulling Orlando into a sitting position with their chests pressed together. Orlando yelped and then gave a whimper of pain. Sean snarled at him to shut up, then reached under his hair with both hands to find the fastening of one of the pendants -- either one, he didn't care which.

The clasps were tiny and he fumbled a bit. The feel of his fingers brushing against the soft, warm skin at the back of Orlando's neck wasn't helping at all. He heard Donny snort behind him and gritted his teeth. He pulled out his knife again, leaned over so he could see what he was doing (and to breathe "Sorry" into Orlando's ear) and slashed through one of the twisted silk cords.

He yanked the thing off from the lad's neck, getting another yelp in the process, and tossed it to Donny. "There," he said. "You've got what you came for."

Sean stood up and turned to face him. He held his hands down by his sides but he kept his face blank and unwelcoming, making it clear that he expected the man to get right back in his car and head off.

The fucker eyed him up and down as though taking his measure. Sean just crossed his arms and eyed him right back.

Donny snorted and muttered, "Fulla yerself, ain't yeh?" and sauntered out.

Sean didn't answer, but followed him out, locked the door behind him and watched through the window until his car disappeared down the narrow drive.

 

Fuckin' hell. That could've gone better. Not that Sean regretted how he'd handled it -- if he'd backed down then Donny would've hassled him just because he could, and might've messed with Orlando as well. Hell, he wouldn't put it past a prick like that to've taken a finger off the lad just to get in good with his boss -- get him what he'd wanted in the first place and hand it to him done up in a ribbon, to show he could get things done.

He pushed a tense hand through his hair and tried to think. What next?

Merriwether'd be sending the hair and the pendant to Orlando's family and then waiting for an answer, so that gave them a bit of time. But Donny was another player in the game now and he might figure he couldn't let Sean get away with backing him down like that. And Donny was a lieutenant, not just a hired muscle; he had boys working for him. Sean being outside of their organization gave him some freedom but it also made him a problem to the folks inside; letting some single bloke without a gang behind him back him off would get him all nervous, like, and angry. He commanded his boys because they were afraid of him, both personally and for the power he had through Jack Merriwether. If Sean blabbed around that he'd stared Donny down all by himself, Donny'd lose face, which'd make it harder for him to do his job and might eventually get him replaced, maybe the hard way.

The question was whether he'd try to even things up, and if so then how?

The first part wasn't really a question 'cause of course he'd try to get his own back. "How" was most likely coming after Sean with some of his bully-boys and teaching him respect from the end of a good, heavy pipe or something like that. "When" was iffy 'cause Donny's own boss still had use for Sean and wouldn't take it well if Donny messed with him before he'd served his purpose.

Of course, at this point one of Donny's own boys could pretty easily do what Sean was doing, and likely do it better whether or not anyone in Merriwether's organization knew it,so replacing him wouldn't exactly be difficult even if he had an unfortunate accident.

Which led to the question of just why Sean was doing it in the first place. Why bring in some outsider, someone who'd never had anything to do with a kidnapping before and would be just as likely to muck it up as get it right, when he could've handed the task to just about anyone who already worked for him and get at least as good a job done and most likely better? Wouldn't he have been better off getting Sean or his da to cover Tommy's debt? They'd've made payments forever with the interest adding on and never got out from under it -- unless some good fortune would've struck like lightning -- which was just what the loan sharks liked to see. Collecting interest every month forever was good business. Which wasn't to say the family'd have agreed, mind, but Merriwether'd never even proposed it -- why?

The sound of the bed squeaking reminded Sean that Orlando was still trussed up in the bedroom and likely none too comfortable. He hurried back while digging the handcuff key out of his pocket.

"Hang on, lad, and I'll have you out of those." He rolled him up onto his side and went to work on the cuffs, first one and then the other. They went back onto the dresser and he helped Orlando sit up and rubbed his wrists for him.

Orlando flexed his arms and rubbed his shoulders, hissing in a breath and grimacing in pain. "Sorry," he said. He whispered, as though he were afraid someone might still be nearby and listening. "My arms ached already from before and then getting pulled back again like that...." He trailed off and shrugged.

"Sorry," Sean muttered. He hated having caused the boy any pain but he couldn't regret what he'd done earlier. If Donny'd got any idea that Sean was going soft on the lad, he'd have reported it straight to Merriwether and then it would've been the both of them in the fire.

"I think we're good for the night," he continued. "It'll take 'im least a couple hours t'get the stuff to his boss and then get it t'your family, however they're doing that. Then they'll have t'give your da some time to respond and all, so we should be able to get some sleep. Time enough to worry what next in the morning."

Orlando nodded but didn't move. He fidgetted with his fingers for a few seconds, then whispered, "He told me your name."

 

Orlando sat still and quiet, his head ducked down and his hands clenched in his lap, listening and feeling for any reaction, some sound or a movement of air that might indicate that Sean was angry or might hurt him. The man had been as gentle and kind as anyone could be under the circumstances and had taken good care of him and obviously not wanted to hurt him, but that'd been when Orlando hadn't known who he was.

Knowing his name, Orlando could send him to prison and that changed the situation completely. Or it might've. Now that Orlando was no longer harmless, his captor might well have turned into the one person who'd want to kill him the most, whether his father ever paid the ransom or not.

Sean. Sean might want to kill him.

He didn't say anything right away and when he did it was just a growled, "Fuckin' hell." A big hand closed over Orlando's knee and he was tense enough to jump just a little. The hand squeezed gently and it felt comforting, just as that rich, velvet voice did, even when it was swearing.

"What all did he tell you, then? It were while I was in the loo, yeah?"

Orlando nodded and answered, "He said that I was in luck, that Sean Bean was a... was gay too and that you'd give me a good tupping before the end, if you hadn't already, and he asked if I'd like that."

More low, snarled swearing, then, "And did you believe him, then?"

Orlando shook his head quickly. "No. I mean, I don't know, you might be gay or he might've just been trying to frighten me but even if you are I don't think you'd hurt me like that. If you were going to then you would've already, you've had no reason to wait." He babbled faster as he went on, afraid that Sean might be the kind of man who was horribly offended at the suggestion that he might be gay and that if so he might get a slap or a punch just for saying it but he really didn't think so although it was possible, but the hand just squeezed his knee once more.

"You're right, I wouldn't," he said, and it was obvious he meant to be comforting. His voice wrapped around Orlando like a warm woolen rug. "I like my partners enthusiastic, lads and lasses both. You've naught to fear from me."

Orlando nodded again. He couldn't help but feel his body relaxing with released tension. He'd been sure, really sure, that Sean wasn't the sort to enjoy hurting him, either in the more usual fashion or by raping him, but the fear had been there anyway. Which didn't make a lot of sense but there it was.

The hand lifted off his knee and the arm it was attached to slipped around his shoulders for a rough squeeze. Another hand ruffled his hair and he found himself smiling for the first time since all this had started.

"So get comfortable, then. You need help with your clothes?"

"No, thanks." Orlando'd found himself stripped down to his pants when he'd woken up that morning and had no hesitation about shucking his clothes again now so he scooted across the bed, swung his legs over the far side and sat up, then started unbuttoning his shirt.

He felt the mattress shift and the bed creaked and then the tension released and he knew Sean had stood up. He'd sort of unconsciously expected to hear him leave the room but instead he heard a rustling that sounded like someone getting undressed.

Orlando's fingers fumbled on one of his buttons for a moment, then he swallowed hard and kept going.

They crawled into bed together and Orlando heard the click of the lamp going off. There was barely room for them to lie separately and shifting around for a comfortable position, Orlando's hand brushed against Sean's. The man didn't move it away, so he left his hand there, then slowly burrowed it underneath. The big, warm hand completely covered his, at least when he curled his fingers a bit, and it was a comfort. He knew he wasn't alone, that there was someone nearby looking out for him.

He relaxed, and slept.


	6. Chapter 6

Sean woke up around dawn to the sound of a couple of birds shrieking at each other outside the bedroom window. The light in the room was dim and hazy, as though it were clouded over outside or even foggy. His right half was just about chilly enough to bear that out, but his left side was toasty to the point of sweating.

He turned his head and squinted to the left. Orlando's face was burrowed into his pillow with only the dark, messy waves of his hair showing. There was barely a handspan of space between them, a closed-off bubble of warm air under the covers where their shared body heat had collected.

One of Orlando's hands was burrowed under Sean's back and one leg had slid underneath one of Sean's and hooked around it just enough to give him the sensation of being locked into bed.

Not that he was, of course -- he could get out whenever he liked -- but the gesture made his lips quirk in a half-smile anyway.

He raised his leg up and off of Orlando's and rolled away from the hand. Before he could get up, though, Orlando startled awake and gasped, then flailed until he found Sean's arm and hung on with both hands. They both froze for a few moments, then Orlando jerked his hands away and babbled, "Sorry, I'm sorry, I just-- I was dreaming and...." He trailed off, sounding unhappy and embarassed and turned away, his head ducked down between his shoulders.

"It's all right, lad, don't fret." Sean gave him an awkward pat on the back, then a rub. His sleep-warmed skin was smooth and inviting to his fingertips but Sean made himself pull his hand away slowly. Either sudden moves or perceptible perving were likely to frighten the boy and Sean didn't want to add to his troubles. "I don't blame yeh for being jumpy -- anyone would be. It's all right."

Orlando bit his lip and wrapped his arms around his drawn-up knees, a position Sean had come to recognize as expressing fear or nervousness. "Do you really think so?" he asked. "I mean, it might not be up to you. I believe that _you_ wouldn't do anything but the other man who was here last night, or someone else who works for your employer -- I think they would. And I _know_ my father isn't going to pay what they want."

Sean clenched his jaw and stared out the window at the gloomy day. He'd been feeling well enough when he'd woken up but now all their troubles came rushing back to thump him.

He saw no use in lying and said, "You're right, they would. They'd kill yeh if he said and eat a sandwich while burying the body. And likely do more before...."

Sean trailed off and his eyes unfocused while his brain went scurrying down a path it'd begun last night hadn't followed to the end. Donny was the sort who didn't much care if a lass were willing and Sean had no doubt he'd do the same to Orlando if he had a chance, and claim that he weren't no pansy-boy so long as he was the one doing the fucking. The thought made him want to snarl but there was something else to it, something that'd been niggling at the back of his mind.

There -- last night, Donny'd had fun frightening Orlando, trying to get him to believe that Sean would be the one doing the raping, and jeering that Orlando would enjoy it. He'd known that Orlando was gay. Hadn't he? Sean frowned and thought.

Orlando'd said that Donny had said that Sean Bean was gay _too,_ which meant he'd been pretty damn sure that Orlando himself was gay. It hadn't been just random nastiness -- he'd _known._ Which meant Merriwether'd known.

So why hadn't he told Sean? All Sean had been given was Orlando's name and a blurry photo that looked like it'd been taken with a camera phone through a car window, and his address. Sean had had to go following the lad about and find out where he went and what he did, and had discovered his fondness for gay clubs and bars on his own. If Merriwether'd known then why hadn't he passed that on when he'd given Sean the job?

He'd had more information about the lad than he'd shared. What else had he known, then?

And what more did Sean _not_ known about this godforsaken job?

It was like a neat little puzzle in his head had suddenly unfolded and become much larger, more complex and nastier than he'd ever imagined. What if this wasn't just a kidnapping? What if Orlando weren't just some random rich twit Jack Merriwether'd decided could bring him some cash? Orlando had said it himself -- his father would like nothing better than to get rid of his troublesome and embarassing son.

What if the whole kidnapping deal were just stage dress to disguise a hired murder, with Sean set up to take the blame for it? That'd also explain just why Merriwether'd been so eager to farm out this particular job to some amateur -- someone who had no criminal record, who had no friends in Merriwether's employ, who'd never been connected with him before in any way -- rather than having one of his own bully-boys do it.

"Sean?" Orlando's voice sounded hesitant and a slowly searching hand touched his wrist in a bare brush of fingertips. "Are you all right?"

"No," he said bluntly. "I'm not." He stared at Orlando's slender, curled-up body and his still-muffled face and spat out a curse. "Bugger it all. I quit." He reached out and yanked the coiled scarf up off of Orlando's face, then tilted the boy's chin up with the back of one hand and forced him to look, eye-to-eye.

He had brown eyes, large and soft. Gorgeous.

"Morning," he said gruffly. "M'name's Sean Bean. Good to meet you."

Orlando stared in shock, then gave him a shy grin. Sean could see his eyes moving back and forth as he searched Sean's face, then swept a good look down his bare torso to his rumpled boxers, then took a quick glance around the room before returning to Sean. "How do you do?" he asked, still smiling. He held out his hand.

Sean took it and squeezed, careful not to use too much pressure, then gave the hand a yank and tugged the lad into his arms for a rough hug. But only for a moment.

"We're leaving," he said, then stood up and headed for his clothes. "Get dressed. We can get something to eat later when we're away from this place but I can't rest easy here anymore. We have to get away and think what to do because this is too twisted to trust to hopes and crossed fingers."

A glance over his shoulder saw Orlando nodding. Sean looked away and focused his thoughts on getting into his clothes as quickly as possible, and away from the nearly-naked young man dressing behind his back.

 

An hour and change later, the two of them were sitting in Sean's car, under a tree in a shadowed corner of a car park. Sean had pulled up to a McDonald's window and bought each of them a huge cup of coffee and a sack of breakfast sandwiches, then driven off and found this grungy, out-of-the-way place to stop.

Sean and his brother'd called these things "grease butties" when they were teenagers but they were hot and fast and filling -- good enough. They could find a proper restaurant and have a decent meal later, if they had a later.

He and Orlando were far enough away from the cottage -- and _not_ in the direction of Sheffield -- that Sean felt comfortable sitting for a while. They needed to relax and eat and get their bearings, talk about some things and figure out what should happen next. It wasn't going to be a comfortable conversation and Sean wasn't looking forward to it at all but it couldn't be put off for much longer.

Sean swallowed a bite, then said, "So, we need to think on what to do now."

"We can go home -- my home," Orlando said, an odd combination of excitement and reluctance in his voice. "We can explain to my parents what happened and that you took care of me and wouldn't let them hurt me or cut my finger off or anything. Or maybe we should go to the police first and explain to them? It'd be good if you walked in on your own, wouldn't it? I could explain to my parents after and my family would help you -- I don't want you to go to prison after you protected me."

Sean glanced over at him, then looked away. "It might not be that easy," he said slowly, trying to figure out how to say what had to be said. "I was thinking, about what Donny said to you, and some other things, and I don't think this is as simple as it seems."

When Orlando shot him a curious glance, Sean explained his line of thought. He kept his gaze focused straight ahead, out through the windshield at an ad for washing powder plastered on some shop's back wall. When he'd finished, he forced himself to look at Orlando and said, "I know this is a terrible thing to ask, but I have to ask it -- do you think, is there _any_ possibility at all, that it's your da trying to be rid of you?"

Orlando opened and closed his mouth several times, like a landed fish gasping for air. His eyes were round and wondering and bleak. He shook his head in slow jerks, but what he said was, "I... I think... I think he could have."

He dropped his sandwich and rubbed his eyes hard with the heels of his hands. He didn't seem to be breathing at all for a few seconds, then he gasped in a loud breath, over and over. Sean realized the lad was trying very hard not to cry and looked away to give him some privacy. He took a bite of his sandwich and chewed without tasting it.

 

Orlando couldn't believe it but he _had_ to believe it and his gut was clenching and he felt like he was about to vomit up his sandwich. He'd known his father was disappointed in him and wished he were different, he'd even thought that his father probably hated him, but he'd never imagined that his own father might actually try to have him killed to make way for his cousin. His normal, straight, about-to-have-a-baby-boy cousin.

He wondered if his mother knew and whether she would have done anything about it if she had.

The mental image of her standing to one side, pretending not to notice while some hired killer cut his throat sent him scrambling for the door latch. He ran the few steps over to a corner where a filthy dumpster sat against a stained brick wall and knelt down just in time to give his breakfast up to the pavement.

Orlando heard a car door opening behind him and approaching footsteps, then a handful of paper was thrust into his line of vision. He took it with a croaked thanks and wiped his mouth, then his eyes.

By the time he pulled himself back up to his feet, Sean was picking up scattered sandwiches and pieces that'd fallen off Orlando's lap when he'd bolted from the car. He tossed a couple still wrapped in their paper onto the seat on Orlando's side and stuffed the trash into the white paper bag. "Here," he said, holding the open bag toward Orlando.

Orlando nodded and stuffed the crumpled serviettes into the bag. Sean tossed it into the dumpster.

"You all right, then?" He let his eyes meet Orlando's for just a moment before looking away, one hand pushing through his short blond hair, the very picture of a male uncomfortable with strong emotion. Except Orlando remembered that hug this morning, and how Sean had let him hang on and comforted him when he'd woken up in a panic, and the burst of anger when he'd told him what that thug had said last night.

The softer feelings were in there, Orlando knew it. Sean didn't let them show often, didn't take them out and hold them up for people to look at, but he _acted_ on them and to Orlando that was more important. He knew plenty of people who knew all the right things to say, who could take all the proper and expected feelings out and lay them across their faces like a series of socially approved masks, each for its own occasion. There were few enough people, though, who actually _felt_ anything deeper than "Do what I say," or "Make me look good."

At least when he hooked up with someone at a bar or a club, he could have a few minutes of serious emotion, something strong and expressed honestly, with no masks and no bullshit.

Sean might not be one to express himself freely, to say loving words out loud, but it was clear to Orlando what he felt because he was willing to act on his feelings. It would've been easy for Sean to just go along with whatever his boss wanted, to pay off his brother's debt and go back to his life the way he obviously wanted. Or even to just leave Orlando at the cottage for the thugs to find, if he wanted to get out of the situation himself. The fact that he'd refused to obey his boss, that he'd stuck around as long as he had, that he'd taken Orlando with him when he'd left -- all that made it as clear as anything that he had feelings for Orlando. He had to, it was the only thing that made sense and Orlando hung on to that belief as hard as he could because it looked like his family -- his parents, his own _father_ \-- had cut him off and cast him out and arranged for him to die and Sean was the only thing he had to cling to just then.

He _had_ to believe that Sean cared for him, that he was a man of strong feelings and decisive actions.

Just the fact that he'd gotten into this situation in the first place should be enough to convince anyone, shouldn't it? His brother had done something Orlando privately thought was rather stupid, although he'd never say so to Sean, and there was Sean doing something he obviously wasn't comfortable with to help him out and clean up a mess someone he cared for had made.

He'd made his own life harder and more complicated because he cared for his brother and it wasn't in his nature to see someone he cared for in trouble and not try to help them out. He was making his life just as hard and just as complicated for Orlando and that had to mean he cared for Orlando too. It did, didn't it?

Orlando needed it to be true, and so he believed it. He nodded to himself and got back into the car.


	7. Chapter 7

Sean glanced up when Orlando got back into the car but most of his attention was on his mobile and the conversation he was having with his da.

"--so it's gone completely arse-up. I took the lad and buggered out and when Merriwether finds out he's going t'be chapped but good."

There was a pause and then Sean's da asked, "So, what are you going to do now, then?" He didn't tell Sean off for being stupid or say "I told you so," despite having advised against Sean's getting involved with Merriwether in any way.

Sean sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. "We need t'see if we can't find some proof of what happened and who's in on it. Seeing Merriwether in prison would be best but even getting Orlando's da to call him off, cancelling, saying he won't pay after all -- that's next best. At least that'd mean that Orlando's safe. But I want you to have the lads keep an eye out around the shop -- Merriwether might send some of his boys over to lean on you, once he figures out I'm not going t'lay down and let him hang me."

"Aye, we'll keep watch," his father agreed. "And I'll give Katie a call as well -- she and Tommy and Little Mark can come stay here for a while. It'll be harder for anyone to come to mischief if we're all together."

"Good," Sean said, feeling relieved. "That's a good idea, aye. Keep the women about the house, let Little Mark help out in the shop and the lads'll keep an eye on him."

"Anyone who comes 'round'll get a good thumping," his da said, and Sean didn't doubt it. They'd been taken by surprise that one time but every man working in the shop had been there for at least five years, most closer to twenty, and they hadn't taken well to the invasion. Any of Merriwether's boys who came 'round would likely find a pipe creasing his skull before he had a chance to even make a threat.

"I need t'get back to work," his father continued. "It's not everyone who's off on holiday, aye? You take care and ring me back when you can."

"Aye, I will. Thanks, da. I'll be home soon." Sean disconnected and put his phone in his pocket, then picked up another one of his sandwiches and unwrapped it.

Just as he took a bite, Orlando asked, "Is your family going to be all right?" His voice was low and flat and Sean gave him a hard look.

"Of course they will. The Beans are no one to mess about with and Merriwether knows that."

Orlando scowled at him. "Then how did you get drawn into all this in the first place? Loan sharking is illegal so if your brother had just told that gangster -- Merriwether? -- to go whistle for his money, he couldn't have exactly sued him for it. And you could've told him off too and sent him on his way if you're so sure he couldn't hurt you or anyone in your family. But you didn't. You're here because you were afraid someone would get hurt and that hasn't changed, has it?"

Sean just stared for a few seconds, taken aback. He'd never heard the boy sound so aggressive before, as though he were angry. Well, angry he could understand, but angry _at_ Sean made no sense.

Orlando had one foot up on the seat and his arms wrapped around his knee. That was a sure sign of trouble, no matter what he was saying or how fiercely he was glaring. Sean swallowed then asked, "What's wrong, then?

"What's wrong is that your family's in danger! What's wrong is that someone who was perfectly able to order you to cut my finger off might be going after your parents and your brother and your little nephew or whover the little boy you were talking about was, and if you really thought that this gang of thugs couldn't do anything at all to hurt you then we wouldn't be here now! What if your 'Little Mark' gets hurt because I can't make my father happy with me no matter what I --?!"

Sean reached out and gripped Orlando's knee, hard. The flow of worried, guilt-ridden words stopped as though he'd closed a switch.

"It's not your fault," he said. He tried to keep the anger out of his voice because, like Orlando's, it was more properly aimed at someone who wasn't there. "None of this is your fault. It's your da's doing, and Merriwether's for taking the job, and mine for agreeing to help him with it--"

"You didn't know what he'd want," Orlando protested.

"Maybe not but I knew it was shady and I agreed anyway," Sean retorted stubbornly. "Even if all that'd happened was what I'd expected, that I'd pick you up and held you for a while and then turned you loose, you still would've been frightened and uncomfortable and dragged away from your life for however many days and that's not right even if you weren't actually hurt. It were a daft thing to agree to and all I can do now is try to fix it."

"Maybe so, but...." Orlando trailed off and bent his head, resting his chin on his drawn-up knee. "But what about your nephew? And everyone else? If that gang goes after your family, I can't imagine they'll fight fair. They'd... I don't know, ambush someone in a car park or throw a firebomb through a window during the night. Something sneaky."

"My da and the lads'll keep a look-out," Sean said, looking back down at his sandwich.

"Do you really think they'll just march into your shop in the middle of the day, when all your workers are there?"

"They'll deal with it!" Sean snapped. Then immediately he said, "I'm sorry," and reached over to brush his hand over Orlando's unruly hair. "I'm worried, yeah? There, I said it. And I guess my da's worried too. But they'll handle it. Have some of the lads stay over, watching through the night in shifts or summat. But we have to take care of this on our side, get through the mess and end it."

Orlando nodded without lifting his chin off his knee. "What do you want to do?"

Sean tossed the rest of his sandwich back into the bag and dropped it on the floor in the back. It suddenly seemed cold and greasy and he wasn't hungry anymore. "Like I said, I think the thing to start with is to cut off the money. I'd love to be able to prove everything and dump the lot of them in prison but I'm no detective off the telly so we'll do whatever we can manage. Confront your da about it -- if we let him know we're on to him, that there are folks who know what he's done, he'll likely back off, yeah? Cancel his deal with Merriwether?"

Orlando frowned. "I don't think he'd be very pleased about that. Merriwether, that is."

"No likely," Sean said with a smirk. "But what can he do about it? He doesn't have you anymore and that means that no matter what, he's not going to get his money. He can't even try blackmail unless your da was daft enough to sign something...?"

"No, he wouldn't have done that." Orlando shook his head. "My father's a good businessman -- he'd never have agreed to put anything in writing."

"Well, there you go, then. We cut off the money and there's Merriwether's reason to chase after you gone."

"Wouldn't he hold a grudge, though?"

"Likely would," Sean admitted. "But hiring a couple of bodyguards for a few months or a year would still likely cost less than whatever he'd have paid for the 'ransom.'"

Orlando scowled at him. "I mean you. Your brother still owes him money and you still quit out of your agreement and made him look like a fool. He's not going to just drop it."

Sean shrugged. "Likely not. We'll take care of that when the time comes."

Orlando reached out and covered Sean's hand with his own. "What if your brother paid his debt? If you and your family agreed not to talk about it, then he could tell everyone that you'd negotiated something, asked to be allowed to pay the money instead of doing the job and that he'd agreed, let him look like he'd done you a favor. So he gets to look good and your family's free of him and then you just all avoid one another."

Sean turned his hand palm-up under Orlando's and squeezed. It were a nice thought but with one fatal flaw. "If we could've paid then we would've. Even everyone pooling together and a mortgage on the business, it still wouldn't have been enough."

Of course, they could've transferred the loan itself. Paid it off a bit every week, paying interest. It would've worked. It would've taken years -- thirty-three years by Sean's calculations, because he'd thought about it and run the numbers -- but it could've been done. The thought of having every cent the shop made above what it took to keep running and make payroll and keep the various roofs over the family heads going to Merriwether, though, for thirty-three years, had been intolerable. Had seemed intolerable at the time. Sean wasn't even sure he'd live another thirty-three years. Now, though, the picture looked different and it might still be workable. If he went to Merriwether with his hat in his hand -- and he'd likely have to let his bully-boys work him over a bit to learn him some "respect" -- he might be able to fix something up. Might.

He didn't like it one bit but he liked even less the thought of his mother or his nephew getting caught up in this brangle. If the baby got hurt when Sean could've prevented it, he'd never forgive himself.

"But what if you _did_ have the money?" Orlando insisted, bringing Sean's attention back to their current conversation. "What if you could just pay it all off, maybe with some extra for his trouble? Do you think that would satisfy him, if you presented it properly? Especially if there was absolutely no chance of him getting a cent from my father and he knew it?"

"What, am I supposed to play the lottery, then?"

"Sean!" Orlando reached out with his free hand and poked Sean in the arm. "I'm rich! That's what all this was about, yeah? I might not be able to write you a check on my own but I'm pretty sure I could get whatever you need."

 

The look on Sean's face was priceless. Orlando wished he had a camera because he really wanted to be able to take a picture and look at it whenever he needed cheering up. As it was, he couldn't help giggling.

Sean shook his head. "I couldn't--"

Orlando cut him off. "Don't say you couldn't take it. My father is just as responsible for this as your brother. Both our families are caught up in this and we can help each other get out of it."

"A loan, then," Sean insisted.

"Fine, whatever," Orlando said, while thinking, Not hardly. He wasn't about to argue the point right then, though.

"That's for later," Sean said, obviously trying to brush the whole issue of money into a corner. "Right now we need to find a safe place to go. I don't want to go home and maybe draw the fight there, and going to your home is just heading into the lion's den all alone. Sorry," he added, glancing an apology over at Orlando. "But--"

"You're right." Orlando shrugged and looked away for a moment. "It's true. If he'd really hire someone to kill me, I have no idea what he might do when he finds out it's all gone wrong. We're better off somewhere else." And an obvious answer came to him.

"We can go to my cousin William. Explain it all to him. He'll let us stay there and help us. We can ask him to call Father, tell him he has some important information about my kidnapping, can't talk over the phone -- that always works on the telly, right? -- and have him come over. Then we can confront him and...." He trailed off and shrugged. "And whatever happens after that."

Sean nodded and said, "All right, that could work," then stopped and scowled. "Wait, your cousin William? Is this the same cousin who's going to inherit after you?"

Orlando nodded. "That's right. He's a great guy -- we've known each other all our lives, played together when we were babies, all that."

Sean looked uneasy. "Orlando, we've been assuming it were your da who arranged all this, but what if it weren't? This cousin has as much to gain as your da if you're murdered -- more even if you think on it, inheriting as soon as your da's gone instead of having to wait for you."

William--? Orlando blinked, then shook his head. "No, it couldn't be. William is the kindest, most inoffensive person I know. Everyone likes him. He raises fuschias! And we're _friends._ " Sean still looked like he was going to argue so Orlando twisted around in his seat and reached over and cupped Sean's jaw in his hand, forcing eye contact. He _had_ to get through to him on this. "It can't be him, Sean. I know him and it just can't. I trust him with my life. And yes, I know that right now that's literal."

Sean was still shaking his head. "It's too dangerous. What if you're wrong?"

"I'm not."

"No."

Orlando smacked the back of the seat in frustration. "So where else would you go that'll be better?"

"A hotel will do -- anonymous and public."

"People sneak into hotel rooms and rob them all the time," Orlando protested. "If they can sneak in to steal things they can sneak in to murder us. And if we yelled for help the people in the adjacent rooms would just yell back for us to shut up because they're sleeping. Trust me, I've stayed in plenty of hotels and short of a bomb or a loud telly in the middle of the night, no one cares.

"I'm certain of it -- we're safer with family and servants about. William has a two meter wall around his property to keep the deer out of the garden -- the only way in is through the gate and someone at the house has to buzz you through. Your Mr. Merriwether would have to send his thugs ninjaing over the wall."

"He might well do," Sean grumbled. He didn't look happy but Orlando was pretty sure he'd won.

"Maybe, but at least we'll make him work for it, yeah?" He pulled his hand back, slowly, taking advantage of the opportunity for a caress. Sean's jaw was scratchy with a nearly two days' growth of beard. Orlando liked it.

Sean bit his lip, then looked straight into Orlando's eyes. Sean's were a misty green and he looked worried. "You say you trust this William with your life, aye?"

"Aye." Orlando mimicked him without conscious thought, but he noticed as soon as he'd said it. He liked that too.

"Do you trust him with mine?"

Orlando held his gaze and nodded. "Yes. I do."

Sean sighed. "All right, then. We'll go see William."


	8. Chapter 8

It was nearly three hours later when they pulled up before a wrought iron gate leading into what appeared to be a nice little estate just outside Altonscroft, from what Sean could see through the shrubberies planted alongside the iron fence. He still wasn't completely sure this was a good idea but he'd said he'd go along with it and he would. He'd keep an eye on this Cousin William, too, and be ready to haul Orlando out of there in a blink if necessary and flatten anyone who tried to get in their way.

Sean rolled down the window and punched the green button on the intercom. A few moments later a tinny male voice said, "May I help you?"

Orlando crawled half over Sean's lap and yelled, "Wills! It's Orlando! Let us in!"

"Orlando?!" The voice sounded right gobsmacked and Sean wasn't at all surprised. Orlando leaned farther over until his face was in the window, in what Sean assumed was better range of the camera lens on the intercom panel.

"Of course it's me! Open the gate, you wanker!"

"Bugger all! Do you have any idea--?"

"Of course I do!" Orlando interrupted. "I'm the one who was kidnapped, remember? Are you going to let us in or are we going to shout at each other all day?"

"Insufferable brat," the voice muttered. The gate rattled and then swung open, though, so Sean figured Cousin William could call Orlando whatever he liked.

Orlando shouted, "Poncy git!" but he was grinning and he slid back into his own seat so Sean could drive them through.

Sean'd relaxed slightly during the obviously friendly exchange of insults. At least they seemed to be close, intimate enough to take the piss with a smile and that was a good sign. Not absolute or anything -- this William could still turn out to be a traitorous bastard looking out for himself -- but seeing that he and Orlando had obviously been that close at one time, even if William were putting it on now, made it... well, a little more likely that the cousin could be trusted.

Which wasn't to say Sean wouldn't be keeping an eye on him all the same.

The drive led around a hill and through some elms, up to a shabby ramble of a house. A dark-haired young man about Orlando's age was standing on the steps waiting for them, along with an obviously pregnant young woman who must be the wife, complete with heir in the works.

Sean parked next to a low hedge and Orlando bounced out and dashed up to his cousin. They clung together and swung each other around with much slapping of backs and pounding of shoulders and delighted insults. Sean sauntered up more quietly and exchanged tight smiles with the lady of the house.

"Ma'am," he said, giving her a polite nod.

She eyed the two younger men and shook her head. "They'll be at it for a while," she said, sounding fondly disgusted. "I'm Rose Bloom."

Sean swallowed half a dozen comments, none of which were appropriate to share with a lady he'd only just met. Her wry glance told him she'd heard them all anyway. "Sean Bean," he answered instead. "Pleased t'meet you."

"Sean!" Orlando bounded over, hauling his cousin behind him. "Wills, this is Sean! He rescued me!"

Sean kept a straight face and held out his hand to the cousin. It was true enough so far as it went.

"Well, of course you didn't get yourself out," William said with a smirk. He leaned over and bumped shoulders with Orlando, then shook Sean's hand. "It's good to meet you, Sean. Since Orlando has no manners, I'm William Bloom but please call me Wills. This is my wife Rosie. You're very welcome to our home."

Orlando muttered, "Wanker," and bumped Wills back. Sean noticed he had a flush of red across his cheeks, though, and smirked to himself. Introductions among Sean's friends usually involved shouting names around a circle as fast as possible so everyone could get back to their beer. He knew what was proper, though, and said, "Pleased t'meet you both."

"Let's go inside, then," said Rose, leading the way up the steps toward the door. "I need to sit down and Emma can find you something to drink. We'll be having lunch in about an hour. Or would you like something now? Did you have breakfast?"

"Aye, we've eaten, thank you," Sean said. He followed her inside and looked around as well as he could without gawking. It had a cozy feel, like a cottage writ large. The rooms he could see weren't terribly spacious and the furniture had a shabbiness that meant generations of use. He sat down on a sofa that was comfortable for all its threadbare upholstery and Orlando plopped down next to him, closer than a recent acquaintance usually would.

Sean glanced up at their host and hostess. Cousin William was still grinning and didn't seem to care one way or the other. Cousin Rose was ignoring them and giving instructions to a middle-aged woman in a grey dress with an apron over it that was as good as a "Housekeeper" sign. If she minded the implications of her husband's cousin not-quite-cuddling up to a strange man in her drawing room, she was hiding it well. There was something to be said for breeding and good manners.

"So, have they caught the kidnappers?" William asked. He paused for a moment, frowning, then added, "Or... were you held somewhere near here? You'd have gone home otherwise, right? Does Uncle Edward know where you are? You've called him, right?"

Orlando glanced at Sean, then back at William and shook his head. "No. I mean, it's complicated. We think. That is, we're not sure but it looks like Father was involved somehow and we didn't want to endanger Sean's family but they don't know about you -- or we don't think they do -- so this was the only place we could think of to come. Or actually, Sean said a hotel but that just sounded too dangerous to me because just anyone can sneak in, right? But here we'll be safe and the kidnapper -- well, the boss -- doesn't know where we are so we can try to work out what exactly to do next."

William blinked, then shook his head and said, "Wait, you think Uncle Edward was involved? Did they hit you on the head when they grabbed you?"

"No! I mean, yes but that's not-- I mean, _Sean_ never hit me, that was Bert, but that's not why, it's the only thing that made sense because Donny knew I'm gay and how would he know that unless--"

Orlando finally stopped babbling when Sean clapped a hand firmly over his mouth. "Stop," he said, a note of humor in his voice, "and breathe. Your cousin thinks you're a nutter the way you're rambling on, chasing your own tail. _I'm_ not even sure what happened listening to you and I were there!"

Orlando glared up at Sean, then relaxed and nodded, Sean's hand bobbing up and down with the lower half of Orlando's face.

"All right, then," Sean said. "Start over, slower and in order, yeah?"

Sean got another nod out of him, and then the corners of Orlando's eyes crinkled in a smile and Sean felt a kiss on his palm. He managed to not snatch his hand away but only just. He pulled his hand away casually and laid it in his lap without rubbing, then smirked at the lad and said, "So, try again."

Orlando rolled his eyes, then looked back at his cousin, who'd been watching them with a bemused expression on his face. "Sorry. It's been a long couple of days." He stopped and stared into space for a moment, then said, "Okay, so I was at the Dark Room and, umm--" He cut himself off and gave Sean an uneasy glance.

"And I grabbed him and tossed him in my car and that's how we met," Sean finished for him. He figured either William knew already, in which case it didn't matter, or he actually was innocent of all this, in which case they'd come to his home and were dumping a load of rubbish into his lap and he deserved to know what-all had happened.

Sean and Orlando told the story back and forth between them, Sean adding his own bit about how he'd got involved and dragging Orlando back onto the track whenever he'd wandered and his cousin began to look confused again. They told him what-all had happened and what they suspected and why. And then waited.

William was just sitting there looking like someone had smacked him in the back of the head with a board when his wife struggled to her feet. She said, "I'm sorry, but I really have to go lie down," and waddled off, looking distressed. She was out the door and gone before William could manage to stand up, much less offer to help her. He stared after her for a second, then shook his head and sat back down.

 

It'd taken some time to convince William that ringing the police wasn't a good idea. They had no proof of anything and only Sean's word that Merriwether was involved at all. Orlando could only testify that Sean had kidnapped him -- he couldn't even have identified Donny since he'd never seen him. If they went to the police now, the best they could hope for was a lightened sentence for Sean and _maybe_ some sort of charge against Donny, especially if Orlando could recognize his voice. There was no way to implicate Merriwether, though, not in any way that'd stick, and having Sean in prison would leave his family to whatever a chapped and not-so-wealthy-as-he'd-hoped Merriwether chose to do in revenge.

Orlando'd sworn he wouldn't have Sean in prison, that he'd deny ever having been kidnapped at all and would testify under oath that he'd spent the last two days getting drunk and laid with friends if it came to that. William hadn't looked terribly pleased by any of it and Sean had the impression that the young man would just as soon see Sean locked up, change of heart or no, but he reluctantly went along with his cousin's demands.

Sean couldn't blame him -- he'd have felt the same way about a bloke who'd grabbed one of _his_ family and put him in danger like that. But no matter how understandable his hostility was, they needed to convince him to go along with their plan.

"We just need to talk to Father," Orlando said for the third time, or maybe the fourth -- Sean had lost track. "We need to talk to him in person, I don't want to do this over the phone. I need to _see_ him, to see how he reacts. We can go somewhere else if you like, if you'd rather we not do it here. Just say."

William waved a hand in a quick, impatient gesture and said, "No, stay, that's not the problem. But what if you're wrong? What if you accuse your father of hiring some _thugs--"_ he spat out the word while giving Sean a sharp glare, "--to have you kidnapped and murdered and it turns out you're wrong and he didn't do it after all?"

Orlando bit his lip, then shrugged. "He can't hate me much more than he already does. If he really didn't do it then I'll say I'm sorry and we'll figure out what to do next."

"That's it? You'd just--" William stopped and closed his mouth, then shook his head and stood up. "Fine, I'll call him and get him to come over. I hope you're wrong, though, and I hope you're ready to grovel because that's a despicable thing to accuse someone of."

Orlando shrugged again, looking lost, but his cousin had already turned away, Sean assumed to go find a phone. He reached over and squeezed Orlando's hand.

"What if he's right?" Orlando asked, his voice low and dull. "What if I'm wrong and it's not Father after all?"

"If _we're_ wrong," Sean said, emphasizing their shared responsibility, "then we'll apologize as well as we can. And like you told your cousin, we'll work out what to do next when the time comes." He paused, then added, "And mayhap realizing that you thought he'd be capable of such a thing would make him see just how bad things've got between you."

Orlando barked out a sharp laugh. "Oh, he knows. Believe me, we're both well aware of just how bad things are between us."

"Well then he should understand why you might think he'd something to do with it, yeah?"

"I suppose." Orlando shrugged and drew one leg up, wrapping his arms around his knee. He leaned over and rested his head and shoulder against Sean without looking, his gaze still turned out into the room.

Sean looped an arm around his shoulders and let him sit and be silent, if that's what he needed.

 

It'd all seemed so clear when they'd been on the run, driving around watching out the back window for anyone following them. And even before, when Orlando'd still been officially kidnapped and it seemed like a gang of thugs could come storming in at any second waving knives and guns and every minute was balanced on the edge of a cliff and he and Sean both had felt like they were just living from one of those minutes to the next, hoping that the next one wouldn't be the one to tilt and fall and crush them both at the bottom of the chasm.

Now, though, it all looked different. He was sitting here in Wills's drawing room with the familiar stone fireplace and faded green stripes on the wallpaper and the burn mark on the worn carpet from when he and Wills had tried to smoke a cigarette when they were ten and Orlando had started coughing and dropped it and hadn't cared or even noticed because he couldn't breathe and it felt like his throat was closing.

It was Uncle Alby's place, and now it was Wills's place. For the last few years it'd felt more like home than the place where he actually lived and being back here, with all the familiar things of his childhood around him, his idea -- his and Sean's idea -- about Father being behind the kidnapping and wanting him dead, wanting it enough to hire someone to do it, suddenly seemed ridiculous.

No wonder Wills thought he'd gone daft. He was starting to wonder himself.

Sean tightened his arm around Orlando's shoulders for a moment, then asked, "Are you all right?"

"Hmm? What?" Orlando turned and met Sean's worried looking gaze.

"I were just wondering whether you were all right with what we'd planned. You don't have to, you know. If you're having second thoughts, like." Sean cocked his head, his gaze steady. He looked worried but Orlando figured that was natural, all things considered. He wanted to say something reassuring but couldn't think of anything.

"If you'd rather not make it a confrontation, you don't have to," Sean went on. "You're back with family you trust and your cousin knows what we thought. Even if he doesn't believe it now, your da can't hardly make a second try without setting off all sorts of alarms, right? You're likely safe now, and you'll be watching and your cousin too. I can leave and you can go back to your life without tossing a bomb in the middle of your family."

Orlando felt his eyes go wide. "What about _your_ family?"

Sean shrugged. "We'll manage. I told you, we're tough. Katie has folks in Sussex she can visit, take Little Mark and Mum with her. Da and the lads and I'll make sure Merriwether knows not to mess with us."

Orlando wanted to smack him. "If you really thought that'd work, you'd have done that before. We already had this discussion, remember?"

"It's not your problem, though," Sean pointed out. Infuriating man. "You're back where you need to be and you've no reason to tear your own family apart. This was none of your doing and I just wanted to make sure you knew I'm not expecting anything."

"Oh, thank you so much!" Orlando was trying to keep his voice low but he couldn't help that it came out harsh and cutting. He glared into Sean's startled green eyes and hissed, "What, you think now that I'm home and safe -- maybe -- I'll just toss you out on your arse and let you go try to protect your family as well as you can? I'd be lying somewhere with only nine fingers if it weren't for you and who knows what else and I'm not about--"

Sean leaned over and kissed him, hard.

By the time Sean let him up for air, Orlando was feeling dizzy again and this time it had nothing to do with his banged-up head.

That rough-velvet voice murmured, "Yer gorgeous when yer angry," and Orlando felt something inside his gut melting, but before he could investigate that feeling any further, Wills came back and called them to lunch. He said he'd talked to Orlando's father and that he was on his way and should be arriving in about an hour and a half or maybe two hours if the traffic were bad and mundane concerns like traffic dragged Orlando back to the real world.

He nodded and said thanks and followed Wills out toward the dining room, aware of Sean's warm body behind him, one big hand resting at the small of his back.


	9. Chapter 9

By the time they were done with lunch, Sean had mostly gotten over the impulse to smack himself in the head with something heavy and blunt. Mostly.

What the _hell_ had he been thinking?

All right, what he'd been thinking was that having Orlando flaring up at him had been sexy as hell. But thinking didn't have to mean doing -- he'd learned that when he was younger than Orlando himself and at forty he was more than old enough to keep his thoughts in his head where they belonged.

Which wasn't to say it wasn't _true,_ mind. He _was_ gorgeous when he was angry.

Of course he was gorgeous all the time -- it'd been a long time since Sean had seen a man who fit the word "beautiful" as well as Orlando. But there were different kinds of gorgeous and Sean hadn't really thought about him "that way" with any kind of seriousness, at least not until recently. The last, what, day or so?

Because before he'd just been the victim, someone Sean felt he had to look out for. Even after he'd discarded the idea that he was a selfish little wanker, he was still just a scared kid Sean had dragged into a bad situation. Sexy, yeah, in a listing-of-nice-parts sort of way. The way a man'd look at a woman with nice tits and think, Yeah, I'd do her -- just a thought about how that particular human animal was sexy enough to probably be a decent fuck. It didn't mean nothing and didn't stick in the brain beyond the next pint.

Since he'd quit the kidnapping business, though -- since he'd introduced himself proper and they'd started making plans about what to do and how to get out of the knot they were in -- it was like Orlando had turned into a real person. Not that he hadn't been before of course but Sean hadn't really _seen_ him that way. He'd been more like a prop, a doll to carry around and look after and worry over. A pretty doll, yeah, but not much more.

But that introduction had changed something. It was like the real Orlando had been hiding before, but after Sean had put them on the same side, he'd come out and started to show who he really was.

Only fair, actually, since that was what Sean'd done, right?

And who Orlando really was was a bright, intense young man with strong feelings and ideas of his own, with a deep sense of empathy and responsibility -- contrary to the original stuck-up twit notion. Whoever was responsible for Merriwether having that description of the lad obviously didn't know him very well at all.

Not that this'd be the first time a father didn't know his son very well. One of Sean's mates had run off to London to go on the stage and Ian's da, who'd wanted the lad to be a plumber like himself and his other two sons, had sworn at anyone who'd listen that Ian was a lazy, no-good wanker who wanted to act 'cause he was afraid of hard work. Sean had visited Ian a few times, though, while he was in London himself attending university, and he'd seen how hard Ian worked at his chosen trade. But Ian's da couldn't see that -- wouldn't let himself see that -- 'cause his son had defied him and was doing something the old man didn't understand.

It was likely the same with Orlando's da. He didn't understand and didn't approve so he just assumed Orlando was being selfish and lazy and whatever all else.

But Orlando was about as far from selfish as anyone Sean knew. Imagine getting angry at the bloke who'd kidnapped you 'cause _his_ family might be in danger. Sean didn't think he'd ever worked up that much of a mad over folks he'd never met and didn't imagine he ever would. It just wasn't in him. To Orlando, though, it was as natural as breathing.

So they'd just have to figure out a way of pulling everyone out of this in one piece, Sean's family and Orlando's family (or what part of it deserved to be rescued) both.

 

Emma the housekeeper had served them all a decent lunch and they'd kept the talk away from the whole kidnapping thing out of respect for Rose, who seemed a bit queasy over the situation. Hormones, most like, and Sean had a healthy respect for them, having known one or two pregnant women in his day.

Afterward, though, Rose had gone back upstairs to whatever she'd been doing and Cousin William had taken them back to the drawing room.

"So what are you going to do when -- or fine, if -- you find out that Uncle Edward had nothing to do with this?" William asked as soon as they'd settled back onto the sofas.

"I know it's him," said Orlando, sounding stubborn.

"And if it's not," Sean said quickly, before William could argue, "then it's all the same. Orlando's safe and he doesn't have to pay anything. Next time Merriwether contacts him, he'll say he's got his son back and isn't paying a cent and that's the end of it."

"That's the end of _our_ end of it," Orlando said, glaring at Sean. "We still have to make sure your family's all right." He turned to his cousin and asked, "Will you help me out with that? I know Father won't and I can't do it by myself."

"Orlando..." Sean started but Orlando thumped him on the arm and cut him off.

"Shut it. Wills?"

"Maybe if you tell me what you need?" Wills gave him a raised eyebrow and a sideways smirk.

"I need enough money to pay this Merriwether character what Sean's brother owes him. That's what started this whole thing, Sean's brother's gambling debt. If we can pay that off then Merriwether can tell everyone that he's leaving Sean and his family alone because they paid him what they owe and he won't lose face with his criminal friends."

"Wait, wait!" William glared at Orlando, then at Sean, then back at Orlando. "You mean this man wants you to just hand him a million pounds because you feel sorry for his brother?!"

"A million?!" Orlando looked shocked and glanced up at Sean.

"No, it weren't no million! Christ, I'd have killed Tommy meself if it'd been that much!" Sean stared back at Orlando, then returned William's glare. "It were two hundred and eighteen thousand, and at that I wanted to thump him a good one. And his wife will as soon as he's out of hospital -- you watch."

"The kidnappers asked Uncle Edward for a million," William insisted.

"Well, they must've thought they could get it, I suppose," Orlando said with a shrug. "Two-eighteen's a sort of odd number after all, might as well round it up."

"You think that's funny?" asked William, sounding incredulous. "So, what, it's all fine because you're getting a _discount?_ Are you listening to yourself?" He surged to his feet and stalked over to Sean and Orlando's sofa and planted himself in front of it, radiating anger. _This_ man here, who admits he kidnapped you, wants you to pay him over two hundred thousand pounds and for what? For being nice and letting you go again? And you think you owe it to him?"

Sean bellowed, "I didn't ask for--!" and at the same time Orlando jumped up and got into William's face with, "Owing isn't the point!" They turned and stared at each other for a moment, then Orlando turned back to his cousin and spat out, "It's about keeping a bunch of innocent people from getting hurt or killed by a gang of criminals!"

"How do you know? Because he told you? And you believe him?" William glared right back and the two of them faced off, a pair of handsome young men close enough in looks to be brothers and so obviously angry that Sean wondered if they'd start pounding on each other.

"Of course I believe him! He has no reason to lie about it!"

"He has two hundred and eighteen thousand reasons to lie to you, idiot! How do you know this Merriwether man even exists? You've only seen two men, this one and that other one -- maybe they're in it together and the other one's been calling Uncle Edward. Maybe they asked for the million because they _knew_ the two hundred thousand would sound _so_ much more reasonable later! Have you even _thought_ of that?!"

"Of course not!" Orlando shouted, then he blinked and took a deep breath. "No," he said, slightly calmer. "I hadn't thought of it. And now that I have, I don't believe it. If it'd been someone else then yes, maybe, but not Sean."

"As if you know him at all." William rolled his eyes to the ceiling looking for guidance, or maybe just someone to share his opinion of how moronic his cousin was being, since Orlando didn't seem to get it and Sean certainly didn't think so.

Sean didn't know what to say, actually. He could insist that he was telling the truth but what'd that prove? Nothing, that's what. If he really were running some sort of con game on Orlando then that's exactly what he'd say. He had no idea how to prove to Orlando, much less to William, that he was honest and that he hadn't cooked up this whole kidnapping scheme by himself. Or even with Donny, perish the thought. All he could do right then was wait and hope Orlando kept on believing him. Not for the money -- although he had to admit it'd be a help and would get them out of Tommy's mess better than anything else he could think of -- but because he didn't want Orlando to think he was a liar and a thief. He wanted to be able to stay friends after all this was over, no matter how unlikely it seemed right then.

"Well, I think you're deluded, that's all," William insisted. "You've formed an unhealthy attachment to your kidnapper -- Stockholm Syndrome, they call it -- and you're no fit judge of whether he's lying or not."

"I'm not--!" Orlando snapped, but William raised his voice and overrode him.

"You can think what you like but you're on your own. I did my best to convince Uncle Edward to pay them their million when we thought your life was in danger but you're home now and you're fine and you're _not_ going anywhere with him if I have to tie you down myself--" and he shot a quick glare in Sean's direction before continuing, "--and I'm not giving tuppence to _him_ because he's a kidnapper and a thief. He may have talked his way around _you_ but I see him for what he is."

Orlando snarled something foul and pulled back a clenched fist. Sean jumped up and grabbed his arm.

"Here, none of that!" He tugged Orlando backward a step, away from William, who looked ready to jump right into a brawl if Orlando wanted to start one and maybe even if he didn't. "No reason to go pounding on anyone, especially someone who thinks he's doing what's best for you. And maybe he is, I don't know."

Orlando and William both started shouting again but Sean waved them both down. "Look, I never asked for no money," he said, staring hard at William. "And when the lad insisted, I said it'd be a loan." He turned and looked at Orlando and continued, "But if it's going to cause a rift between you and the only family you're close to then forget it. We'll work it out somehow. We take care of our own and we'll get through this too."

He let go of Orlando's arm and turned away because he just didn't want to look at either of them anymore for a bit. He needed to pull his thoughts together and figure out a way out of all this.

Sean walked the few steps over to the cold fireplace and leaned one arm against the polished mantel. It'd never occurred to him that anyone might think _he'd_ been behind all of this. When William had said it, though, it'd made sense. It wasn't true but Sean could see how someone else who'd just heard about what'd happened might believe it.

Maybe Merriwether'd counted on that? He'd thought before that Merriwether might've meant to pass all the blame onto Sean so this'd just be more of the same. But he couldn't have known Orlando would offer to pay Tommy's debt -- that were just some cracked notion of the lad's and no one could've predicted it. But if Merriwether already had some scheme to pin the blame for the kidnapping on Sean, that'd sure help out, now wouldn't it?

 

Sean had just turned to face them once more, looking like he had something to say, when Orlando saw the door open out of the corner of his eye and Rose peeked in. Her face was tight with worry and when she stepped through the door, her shoulders were hunched and her hands clenched. Orlando thought she must've heard the shouting and come down expecting to see a war going on in her drawing room.

She took another step into the room, then bit her lip and hurried over to William. "Will?" She gave him a quick looking-over, then took his hand and tried to tug him toward the door. "It's time to go, remember? It's market day. You need to take Emma to do her shopping."

Orlando stared at her, his eyes wide. The intrusion of something so mundane as marketing into the atmosphere of anger and shouting and criminal accusations was just surreal.

"Rosie, not now," Wills said. His voice was low and he sounded a little embarassed.

"Why not now?" she asked, her voice edging up toward hysteria. "It has to be now. If you wait then the shops will be crowded and you know Emma hates crowds. And it has to be today because she doesn't have the chops or the carrots for dinner and we're nearly out of milk--"

"For God's sake, Rosie!" Wills looked like he wanted to shake her only of course he didn't, especially with her condition and all. "Uncle Edward should be here within half an hour and you want me to take Emma shopping?"

"You know she can't lift the heavy things by herself," Rosie insisted, still tugging on Wills's hand. "I can't help her and she needs you and there's no reason you have to be here when Uncle Edward comes. _They_ want to talk to him but this is nothing to do with you. And... and if they don't stop shouting then I'll just... I'll call the police and have them thrown out!"

With that she burst into tears and buried her face in Wills's shoulder. He looked helplessly over his wife's head at Orlando and Sean, then said, "All right, all right, hush. We're not shouting anymore, see? And you're right, I don't have to talk to Uncle Edward. You tell Emma to get ready and I'll meet her in front in five minutes, all right?"

Rose gave Orlando and Sean an angry glare over her shoulder, then sniffled and nodded. "All right," she said. "Five minutes!" She hurried out the door, wiping her eyes.

"Sorry," Wills said, rubbing his arm and looking a bit sheepish. "It's just, you know, women? She's been all over tears at the drop of a hat since she started showing, and if you tell her I said so I'll thump you good! But she's right, I don't have to be here because Uncle Edward will see the situation just as plainly as I do. So you tell him you're safe and he can call the police and that's the end of it, right?"

Orlando felt a shot of anger returning at the reminder of what Wills thought of Sean. He glared and felt his muscles stiffening again but didn't want to restart the fight so he just said, "Fine. I hadn't ever thought of asking _him_ for any help anyway." He was vaguely aware that he sounded like a bratty little boy when he said that but he couldn't help it; his father brought out the worst in him these days, even if it were just a matter of talking about him.

"All right, then," Wills said. And with a nod, he left.


	10. Chapter 10

Once they were alone, Orlando went from stiff with anger to an exhausted-looking slump, as though he'd expended all his energy arguing with his cousin and maintaining his in-control face and had finally realized he was at the bottom of his tank. He turned and leaned against Sean with a heavy thud. Sean had his arms around him and was guiding him back toward the sofa without conscious thought.

He was feeling a mite wrung out too, truth to tell. They'd both been under a hellish stress for the last couple of days -- and bugger all if it didn't feel like a couple of weeks -- and although they weren't out of it yet, not hardly, they _were_ finally at a point where they'd nothing that needed doing, nothing to look out for, no gangsters with guns hiding behind the furniture nor creeping up just outside the windows. They were fed and safe and sitting on a chunk of empty time and the first instinct Sean had was to take a nap because he felt pretty much like Orlando looked.

Orlando seemed to have another instinct, though, because moments after Sean had them settled back on the sofa he found himself entwined in a tangle of once-more-tense limbs and with a shaking young man all but in his lap.

"Orlando? It's all right, lad, calm down, relax now." Sean wasn't at all good at this sort of thing and murmured whatever comforting nonsense he could dredge up while trying to figure out what the problem was. "Come on now, we're safe, yeah? Let's just relax for a bit and we can think on what to say to your da when he comes." He slid one arm around Orlando's waist and hung on tight while patting him awkwardly on the back with his other hand. Comfort was all fine but the lad seemed to want to slide the rest of the way onto his lap and Sean was fairly sure that wouldn't be a good idea, all things considered.

"How could he say that?" The question came out a rough whisper, as though Orlando were having a hard time finding his voice. "How could he? It's like he's saying I'm stupid, that I don't know what I'm doing or I'm an easy mark, some gullible idiot and he _knows_ better or I thought he did, I thought we knew each other better than that, like brothers only better because we never had to share a room or anything and we always got along and always _knew_ each other, like we could tell what each other was thinking at times, you know? It always clicked perfectly and we always understood each other and supported each other and covered for each other and now he thinks I'm some kind of fool and I don't understand what _happened!_ "

Sean sent a desperate glance around the room, as though someone -- his mum, his sister, his sister-in-law, _someone_ \-- would pop up from behind a piece of furniture and take over or at least tell him what to do because whatever it was about him that made him fancy the lads had neglected to install the how-to-comfort-an-almost-crying-mate gene and he felt like he was about to drown or at least bugger things up royally.

"Dammit anyway!" Orlando's fist impacted Sean's shoulder hard enough to jar.

All right, maybe he _wasn't_ about to cry. That was good, right? Yeah, that was good. And being relieved of the terror of having a mostly-grown man start crying all over his shirt freed up braincells to use for other things, like figuring out what to say.

"Well, look, he's still on your side, yeah?"

"On my _side?"_ Orlando leaned back enough to stare at him, incredulous. "If he were on my _side_ he'd be supporting me, not being one more thing I have to stand against and deal with!"

"No, look -- this whole situation is insane. I'm not surprised at all that your William is looking for a simple explanation. And yeah, the simplest explanation is that this is some kinda con job. Honestly, if you saw this story on the telly, wouldn't you be laughin'?"

Orlando got a stubborn look, then shook his head. "That's different. If I'd heard it from a stranger or as fiction, then yes, I'd think it was ridiculous. But this is _me_ and Wills should trust me. I'm not some stranger he doesn't know, someone he could just shrug off as a blind fool."

Sean sighed. That hadn't worked very well. He slid one hand up Orlando's back and stroked it through his hair, trying to communicate calm. "Maybe so," he admitted. "But you do see that he's concerned for you, aye? He's worried and doesn't want you to get hurt. Maybe he's not saying it the way you'd like, but the idea's there. If you weren't so close then he wouldn't care one way or t'other."

Orlando started to protest again but a muffled buzz sounded from between them near the sofa cushions and they both looked at each other. Sean felt a bolt of dread shoot through him and pulled away from Orlando so he could get his mobile out of his pocket. He flipped it open and checked the display before answering. It was Katie.

"Aye?"

"Sean? 'Ow ist?"

"I'm fine," he answered. "What's wrong?" He could hear the stress in her voice and knew she hadn't called just to check on him.

"Yer dad's bahn t'hospital--"

"Fookin' hell!" Sean shot to his feet but his sister-in-law hurried on.

"--but tis nowt! Tis just a bump, like. Merriwether's boys came 'round but we learned 'em better!"

"We? Katie--!"

"Tha dad came 'cross t'tell us t'lock up, yeah? Twa buggers came after an' knocked him good. Jamie got one an' tha mum bashed t'other wi'a pan. Stupid twonk tried t'get up but I kicked him in t'head."

Sean clamped his jaw and suppressed a string of curses. Katie chattered on, mixing reassurances about Sean's da with excited reports of what'd happened when the lads from the shop had come after Merriwether's bully-boys and leathered 'em good. Sean listened with one ear while his brain ploughed through the new development and tried to figure out what was going on.

Merriwether must've sent someone to the cottage and found out he and Orlando'd gone. The fact that he hadn't even tried Sean's mobile was ominous; Sean would've expected him to try to get them to come back with threats first, or at least indulge in a good telling-off. Instead he'd moved right to going after the family which just seemed daft.

Unless he'd called Orlando's da after Cousin William had talked to him, and his lordship'd blabbed that... that what? William hadn't been meant to tell that Orlando was here, only that he had some important information he wouldn't give over the phone.

But then, Sean hadn't been listening when William had talked to the man so who knew what'd been said? Buggerin' hell....

If William _had_ blabbed, and if Merriwether'd called Lord Rasley since, then that might be how he knew Sean'd quit his employ; he needn't have actually sent anyone to the cottage. Sean having taken Orlando back to his family'd be a pretty clear indication to Merriwether that he'd been betrayed. Or so he'd've seen it -- Sean's opinion was that he was the one who'd been betrayed first. Not that it mattered, not now, because they'd hurt his family and none of the reasons mattered.

Katie was still nattering on. Sean mostly ignored her and just tried to pull his racing thoughts into order.

 

Orlando sat curled up on the sofa and watched Sean pace the room with the phone to his ear and listened to a mostly incomprehensible stream of questions and exclamations. It was bad enough listening to only half of a phone conversation but when the half you were getting had immediately shifted into a dialect so thick it needed subtitles, all that was left was frustration and worry.

Something had happened at Sean's home, that much was clear. And with that much information, Orlando could imagine a few possibilities and none of them were comforting.

By the time Sean snapped the phone closed and jammed it back into his pocket, Orlando was convinced he was going to leave. That in fact he _should_ leave, if there was trouble with his family. Part of him wanted to beg Sean to stay, to be with him when his father came, but he smacked that part down and stuffed it firmly under a chair.

There was no reason he needed someone to hold his hand when he confronted his father. Even if they were right -- and Orlando was sure they were -- Lord Rasley wasn't the sort of person to lunge out and try to strangle Orlando himself when he discovered his plan had failed. He was the sort of person who had minions do the physical labor, who held his dignity high enough that if he _did_ make any move to harm Orlando himself it'd be time to go search the cellars for alien pods.

"He knows we're gone," Sean said without preamble. "He has to -- it's the only reason he could possibly have for sending his boys to the shop."

"Is everyone all right?" Orlando asked. It wasn't a real question; he'd already picked up from the phone conversation that someone had been hurt. He was trying to give Sean an easy way to say that he'd be leaving.

"M'da got a hard thump in the ribs. Mum's taken him t'hospital but it's just for a check. He's gotten harder knocks playing footie. 'Course, that were a fair numb'ra years ago but still, the old man's a tough one." Sean paced another circuit of the room while speaking, then flopped down onto the sofa.

Orlando waited a few moments, but when the silence stretched out he said, "So, if you need to go check on your father, I understand. That is, it's family. And it's not like anyone's likely to pop up and shoot me or anything. So." He looked for something else to say but nothing came to mind so he just shrugged and tried to smile.

Sean gave him a look that was hard to interpret. It wasn't angry or worried or exasperated or confused or reassuring... well, maybe a little reassuring. But he was clearly conflicted about the situation.

What he said, though, was, "I'm not going anywhere. Katie said that Mum said that if I come hover at the hospital and get in the way and give Da someone else to brag to she'll break me arm, so I'm staying." He gave Orlando a tense-looking smile and a quick shrug. "She's right -- there's nothing I could actually do there. Here, we have a chance of shutting it all down. My hind brain wants to dash home and find some heads that deserve breaking but my rational brain knows better."

That was a good reason and Orlando wanted to pounce on it, but....

"But even if we cut off the money from this end, this Merriwether person still has a grudge against your family."

"It'll give him less reason, though. Sometimes a little at a time is the way to do the job."

Orlando frowned; that didn't make a lot of sense. It seemed to him that the _best_ way to do this job would be to just find Merriwether and bash his brains out or something. There'd be loose ends to tie up, yes, but still....

His confusion must've shown because Sean asked, "Have you ever cut down a tree? A really big tree?"

Which... didn't really help. Orlando shook his head.

"If you need to cut down a really big tree," Sean said patiently, "say it's died, or better, it's diseased and you don't want it spreading around. If it's standing alone you just cut it down near the base and that's it. You cut it up for firewood and leave the stump or deal with it, whatever. But if it's surrounded by other things -- other trees you want to save, buildings you don't want damaged, like that -- then just whacking it down all in one go's a bad idea. You take off most of the branches, then take the trunk in a few sections, and you make sure that each thing you cut off falls like you want it to and doesn't crash down on something you want to save."

Umm. That was a little better but not much. "So... who's the tree again?"

Sean rolled his eyes and gave Orlando's thigh a smack. "Merriwether's the tree, yeah? Pay attention." Without waiting for an acknowledgement or giving Orlando time to think of something snarky to say in return, he went on with, "Money's always tops with him. He likes what it buys and he likes having a high score. If we let your da know we're on to him, he'll leave off, yes?"

"Yes," Orlando agreed, sorting out hims and hes. "Especially since we've told people what we think and we'll tell more. He won't dare having his name connected with anything as sordid as kidnapping and hired murder and if something odd happens to me after all this, there'll be enough questions asked that it'll all come out. Especially if there are people like Wills who'll be primed to ask the _right_ questions."

"Exactly," Sean said with a nod. "So, we let your da know the game's off and that's it from this end. That's a huge pile of money that's completely out of his reach for good, no sense beefin' over it. He's a cold bastard but he's not stupid, he wouldn't be where he is if he were. He won't have any reason to go after you _or_ your da now."

"Revenge?" Orlando asked. Then he shook his head and answered his own question. "No, he's in the same position as my father -- too many people know he was involved now, people he no longer has a hold over."

"Aye. He could hold your da's involvement over his head before, get him to help if anything went wrong, but not now. He's too much to lose."

"He can only play the blackmail card if he's desperate," Orlando agreed, his mind hopping along the path Sean had pointed out. "If he were arrested and about to be charged anyway then he could've use Father's involvement to threaten him into providing assistance. But he can't play that card without implicating himself as well, so right now it's useless."

"Exactly," Sean said again. He looked pleased that Orlando'd worked it out. Orlando wasn't sure whether to be happy or insulted and decided he'd figure that one out later.

"So," Sean went on, "we deal with this, lop off this big branch here, then look to see what the rest of the trunk looks like."

Orlando thought about what "the rest" might consist of. "Two problems I can see. No, three. One, your brother's debt. I can take care of that." Sean stiffened up and opened his mouth but Orlando just waved him down and kept going. "Shut it. It's an easy fix. We can work out the details later and I frankly don't give a damn what Wills or anyone else thinks. _Two,_ your having 'dissed' him by switching sides, which is related to three, his attack on your family. Both of those were public -- the people he does business with will know about them and they both affect his reputation, yes?"

"Aye," Sean agreed. "Although the one was negative and the other might well be seen as positive -- him flexing his muscles, like."

"Yes, but we can take care of both at once. All three, actually. Like we were discussing before, if we can work it out so that he gets his money -- at least what your brother owes him -- and so he doesn't lose any face then he should agree to just end the whole thing. Yes?"

"Aye." Sean frowned and stared at something beyond Orlando's right shoulder, as though he were thinking.

This next part might be tricky but Orlando thought it had to be at least suggested. "So, we just add it into what we talked about before. The story is that you didn't want to do the job after all, it got too... too criminal for you, or some such thing. And the attack on your family just clinched it -- you wanted out and so you came up with the money to pay him off and be done with it. He got his whacks in and he gets his money so he can be the big man and declare the matter closed. He doesn't lose face and has nothing to revenge, you get him off your back and get on with your life."

Sean cocked his head and gave him a hard look. "So the game got too rough and we yielded, is that it?"

Orlando felt his stomach twist but he just shrugged. "He put your father in the hospital. You have other family, little kids to think about. I can't imagine anyone would think less of you for wanting it over with. And your brother _does_ owe him the money, doesn't he? It's not as though it were just a... a protection racket or something."

"Aye, he does," Sean admitted. "And I don't give a damn what anyone else thinks any road. You're right, that might work. And if it'd end it all then the neighbors can think what they like."

Orlando's stomach unclenched and he managed a smile. He'd been worried that Sean would be offended by the suggestion but it was all he could think of that might work. The fact that Sean _agreed_ it might work made him feel a lot better.

"That's for later, though," Sean said. "What are we going t'say to your da when he comes?"

"I don't think we'll have to say all that much, actually," Orlando said with a shrug. "The fact that I'm here means his plan is derailed. We tell him we know he was behind it and there you go."

Sean was looking a little dubious but before he could say anything the slightly muffled sound of the phone ringing interrupted them from out in the hall. It was the familiar double-ring that signalled someone calling from the gate. Orlando swallowed and felt a sudden urge to run and hide somewhere. Instead he grabbed Sean's hand and held on hard.

"That's it," he said, his voice lowered for no particular reason except that he was so stressed he could feel his heart pounding through his chest and if he didn't whisper he'd scream. "Rosie'll get it and he'll be here in another couple of minutes."


	11. Chapter 11

Orlando'd practically cracked Sean's knuckles with the force of his grip, then he immediately let go and jumped up to his feet. He just stood there, quivering with tension, his arms wrapped around his middle and his gaze darting from door to window to window and back to door. The room was at the side of the house and Sean knew there'd be no view of the drive from there so his strongest impression was that the lad was looking for an escape hole.

While Sean watched, Orlando turned one way, then another, took a couple of steps, stopped, turned, rubbed his arms, turned, took three steps, stopped--

"Orlando!"

The lad jumped a good foot in the air then spun around to face Sean, his eyes huge and round. "What?!"

Sean moved across the room, grabbed him by the upper arms and gave him a sharp shake. "Settle, lad! You look like you're about to explode! Come on, now -- this should be a quiet little conversation, soon over. Not terribly pleasant, mayhap, but we'll get through it and then it'll be done, yeah?"

"I know! I know...." Orlando bit his lip and looked up into Sean's eyes as though searching for something. "I know it's nothing to be afraid of but that doesn't _help."_ He looked away and added, "I'm sorry. I know I'm actingly like a complete twit but he just has this way of getting to me and I can't help it, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry -- buck up!" Sean gave him another sharp shake, then pulled him into a tight hug. "Come on, now, you can do this. Just look him in the eye and say what you have to say, right?"

"Right." Orlando nodded and Sean could feel the lad's nose ploughing through his hair. It made him wish they were somewhere else, somewhere far away and far awhen from all this rubbish, that they'd met somehow other -- in London maybe, when Sean was there at uni?

Except that when Sean was at uni, Orlando was still learning to walk.

Sean pushed him back and gave him a stern look while maintaining a tight grasp on his arms. "All right, then. Look now -- you can handle this. You can stand up straight and look him in the eye and know that he can't hurt you and that he doesn't deserve the satisfaction of seeing that he bothers you. He'll go along with what you want because it's in his own best interests. He might not like you and might not like the fact that you're his heir but it'd smear the family honor to have him go to prison for conspiracy to murder a lot more so he'll deal. You're the one carrying the biggest stick, so act like it!"

Orlando blinked, then glared, then nodded in a jerky sort of fashion but one which still managed to indicate that he'd reached some level of determination. Sean nodded in satisfaction and let him go, at which point Orlando, still looking determined, grabbed _him_ by the upper arms, yanked him close and kissed him hard.

Sean's brain knew he should back off, that this was a really bad idea all on its own and even moreso _now,_ when Orlando's da and probably Rosie were on their way. Not that it wouldn't likely do Lord Rasley some good to actually _see_ his son fooling around with another man, heh, but it'd be a complication they didn't need at the moment.

Sean's brain wasn't actually in charge at that point, though, so instead of backing off, he wrapped his arms around Orlando, pulled him close and kissed back.

All Sean's blood rushed south, leaving his brain to throw up its hands and go for a tea break. He was vaguely aware that he shouldn't be doing this but the feel of a smoothly muscled back under his hands and a hot, seeking tongue in his mouth seemed reason enough to keep going for however long it lasted.

He pushed his hands up under Orlando's shirt, seeking bare skin. Orlando made a low, wanting noise into Sean's mouth and wriggled against him. Encouraged, Sean slid one hand up and down and the other back and forth. The shirt Orlando'd worn to the club and ever since was tight and silky and had warmed against his body; it was smooth against the back of Sean's hand as it rode slowly up Orlando's smooth back.

Sean felt a hardening cock press against his hip and he slid one hand down to Orlando's arse to pull him tighter. The response was hot and sexy -- passion and enthusiasm and Sean couldn't understand why those other sorry sods he'd seen the lad with hadn't appreciated it. How could anyone be where Sean was right then and not want to stay there, not want to have this for his own? Fucking this once and then tossing it away made no kind of sense. They were cracked, they had to be, purely mental! No man in his right mind would voluntarily give this up -- gorgeous and sweet and caring and hot as hell--

A short, intense sound, like a hollow bang, jolted Sean out of his passion-dazed cloud.

He pulled away from the kiss and looked quickly around out of reflex, listening hard. Orlando was doing the same and was blinking up out of a haze of his own.

"Car door," Orlando muttered. He yanked his shirt down and smoothed his hair back with shaking hands. "He's here."

"Hey." Sean took his shoulders again and gave him a gentle shake, drawing his attention back to Sean's face. "You're gonna be all right, hear? I won't say to relax, that'd be daft, but don't let it show. You've got a strength in you, I've seen it, so you let that carry you and don't let him see you're nervous. He's the bastard here an' you're in the right so look him in the eye and think how much you'll enjoy seeing him realize it's all fallen apart. Yeah?"

"Yeah." Orlando nodded and managed a crooked smile.

Sean stole a last quick kiss just 'cause it seemed like the thing to do, then backed off. He'd love to be right up there next to him, lending a snarl and a glare, but the lad needed to do this. He was over eighteen -- twenty-two actually, according to the info Sean'd dug up while planning the grab -- and it was more than time for him to stand up to his own da and say what was what. Respecting your parents was all fine and well but that assumed they respected you back and Orlando's parents pretty obviously didn't.

While they waited, Orlando stiff with tension and repeatedly clenching and unclenching his shaking hands, Sean more casual -- at least on the surface -- and leaning against the fireplace mantel, Sean thought about what might've been different in his own life if his parents had tried to regulate it the way Orlando's had his.

Although actually, they had, in a way. It'd always been assumed that Sean would go into his father's welding company. He'd read business at uni in London, with a minor in materials engineering, all so he'd be able to go back and help their little shop compete in a world where the big companies could sell anywhere and would cut you off at the knees if you let 'em.

The difference, though, was that he _liked_ working in the shop. He liked making things out of metal and seeing something he'd built with his hands go out and be used as part of a machine or a building. Even doing repairs meant that other small businesses wouldn't have to strain for the money to replace something fixable, or that someone with a beloved old car or a classic iron staircase could keep it for a while longer.

They had a good crew of lads and Sean enjoyed working with them, too, and he'd moved into managing the shop over the last few years as his da had stepped aside a bit at a time. Maybe he _had_ been guided at that but he hadn't been shoved against his will and that made all the difference, didn't it?

And while his parents might not be overjoyed at his tendancy toward the lads, neither were they apt to badger him over it, or disown him as he'd seen happen with some mates of his who'd swung that way. He was discreet and didn't flaunt boyfriends and they left him alone to live his personal life as he saw fit.

He'd always known he was lucky for that and then some, but realizing that Orlando's da would actually try to have him killed for it had made him that much more grateful for his own family.

All of which made him that much more determined to see this through and clean it all up. If Merriwether thought he could walk right in and wreck it all then Sean'd learn him different.

And just about then, Sean heard two sets of footsteps in the hall. He straightened up and watched the open doorway, looking forward to his first look at the man who'd made Orlando so miserable.

Rosie entered first, her eyes huge and frightened-looking. And just behind her, with a tight grip on her upper arm and a pistol in his free hand, Merriwether walked right in.

 

Orlando had felt the tension building... well, all day really, and moreso since the phone call from the gate, but in particular the last minute or so since he'd heard the car door slam. Sean's last-minute pep talk had helped and he'd psyched himself up to standing straight and cool in front of his father and looking him in the eye and not letting him _get_ to him the way he always did. Years of sniping and sharp criticism and pointed reminders and bitter disappointment -- his own as well as his father's -- had conditioned him to withdrawing, to curling up inside and putting up a helpless, childishly defensive attitude. He hated it and he hated who he became when his father was in the room but he couldn't seem to help it; the grooves of habit were worn too deep.

Having Sean there made a difference, though, as did knowing that his father had gone beyond the pale with this whole kidnapping scheme. He still felt the urge to huddle, felt the sullen whining billowing up inside him, but he'd fought it down and stood straight and was ready to look the man in the eye just as Sean had said.

Then Rosie'd come in with some stranger and he'd been looking behind them, past them, out into the hall where he was sure his father was about to enter and the confusion had thrown him so hard he hadn't even noticed the gun at first.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sean moving away, a couple of big steps past the fireplace where he'd been standing and toward the corner, on the same wall as the door but several paces away. The look on Sean's face, the shocked, glowering hate made Orlando take a better look at the man with Rosie and that was when he'd noticed the gun because it'd swerved to point at Sean.

"Don't even think it, Bean," the newcomer snarled. He was only half a head taller than Rosie, with a ruddy, rough-hewn face which would never be called handsome but had a hard strength to it. He was stocky but softer around the edges than Sean was, as though he didn't do much physical work, nor get much other exercise. He gestured confidently with his gun, though, and Sean took a reluctant step, then another, back toward Orlando. He stopped closer to the center of the room but farther away from Orlando than he had been.

Orlando's racing mind first wondered why Sean had tried to move away in the first place -- he couldn't have been trying to hid there, even if Sean were the hiding sort -- but a moment later he realized that the man wanted to be able to cover the both of them with the one weapon and Sean had tried to prevent that.

"So how'd you get in, then?" Sean drawled, his arms crossed loosely over his chest and his head cocked in a sneer. His tone and stance was all familiar scorn and hatred and Orlando suddenly knew who this was. It had to be Merriwether. The boss himself had shown up to... to what? Nothing good, that was for sure, and maybe they'd been wrong and he _hadn't_ gotten the word that the contract was off. Maybe he was here to finish it up himself, to kill Orlando and any possible witnesses and be done with it?

He felt a cold nausea build up in his gut. The man had a rough grip on Rosie which was clearly a threat. She looked terrified and it was all Orlando's fault for bringing his problems here. He'd been so sure they'd be safe but he'd been wrong and now what? Sorry wasn't going to make a damn bit of difference if this bastard ended up killing all three of them.

All four of them. Rosie had her free arm curled protectively around her pregnant belly.

"No bully-boys this time, then?" Sean asked, still sounding snarky. "Or, wait, they're all feeling a bit under t'weather after gettin' leathered good down at t'shop. Or had yeh heard about that yet? Tommy's lass and our mum took out one of 'em -- you might want t'move that lad into a desk job when he recovers."

"Shut it!" Merriwether barked. He glared at Sean and hauled Rosie farther into the room, up against the wall opposite the fireplace. "You two, next to each other." He waved his gun back and forth from Orlando to Sean, then pointed it at a spot in the center of the room between the sofas.

Orlando looked at Sean. He just stood where he was, staring hard but not moving. Orlando bit his lip but stayed where he was as well.

"Now, bugger it!" Merriwether glared at them both, then sneered and pressed the muzzle of his gun against Rosie's head.

Orlando felt his lips shaping Sean's name, but he didn't make a sound and still didn't move. Merriwether had to know that if he killed Rosie they'd both be on him a moment later.

Sean still didn't move. Orlando could feel his heart slamming against his chest and his stomach was twisting harder than ever. He'd never been this frightened before, not even when that other one, Donny, had been hovering over him and whispering about what Sean was going to do to him. He hadn't really believed him then because that was Sean and even while handcuffed and blindfolded he'd trusted Sean.

And he trusted him now but he wasn't the one who was in control here and Orlando was sure, just from looking Merriwether in the eye, that he _was_ the sort of man who could kill someone to get what he wanted.

Then the sneer changed into a big grin and the gun moved down to poke into the side of Rosie's belly.


	12. Chapter 12

Orlando yelped, "No, don't!" and took a reflexive step forward, then made a hasty reverse and practically jumped into the middle of the room, exactly where the gun had been pointing just a few moments earlier.

"Sean?!"

The look the lad was sending him was desperate and pleading and it was obvious he thought Merriwether might actually shoot Rose. Well, he might at that -- Sean knew better than to assume the fucker had any sympathy or finer feelings preventing him. But self-interest, now _that_ he had by the truckload and that was something they had to make sure he stayed focused on 'cause it was the only leverage they had just then. Self-interest would tell him that actually shooting the lass was a bad idea, that as soon as he did Sean'd be on him and the likelihood of the pistol "going off in the scuffle" was pretty fookin' high.

But Orlando was clearly terrified for his cousin and she herself was struggling and crying and near hysterical, not that Sean blamed her none, and he knew he needed to make a concession to get things calmed down a mite.

He took a slow step toward the center of the room, then let Orlando grab his wrist and tug him the rest of the way. Almost -- he held his arm rigid and kept about a meter between them when the lad would've pulled him closer. It was obvious he wanted to latch on and Sean wanted to let him but it was more important not to let Merriwether see anything he'd identify as a weakness.

Unless, of course, a mistaken assumption could be turned against him. That, Sean was more than willing to do. Unfortunately, letting him see that Sean cared for Orlando personally would lead him to all sorts of assumptions which weren't mistaken at all. Sean would do whatever it took to keep the barrel of that pistol pointed away from Orlando, to keep it trained on anything else at all including the cousin, and that was far too useful a handle to give an angry and likely desperate man who saw murder as just another handy tool.

It was bad enough he knew Sean would balk at killing or even doing serious damage to a stranger who'd never harmed him, just on principle; that'd be enough of a "weakness" to someone like that without letting him see that Orlando wasn't a "stranger" anymore.

So Sean planted himself an arm's length away from Orlando, shook off his grasp and then ignored him, focusing instead on Merriwether.

"Well? What now, then?" He gave the man a contemptuous look and crossed his arms over his chest. "You came ninjaing over the wall or whatever it was just to call this meeting, so what're we here for? 'Cause if it's just to stare at each other, I've better things to do."

Merriwether's pistol hand wavered and Sean hoped for a moment that it'd move far enough away from Rosie and toward himself, but the bugger caught himself and jammed it back against the woman's pregnant belly.

"Big enough man now, Bean," Merriwether sneered. "Why couldn't you be a man when I needed it before, eh? Fookin' nancy-boy, can't even follow instructions without goin' soft an' _now_ yeh find yer balls?"

"It don't take balls to hack pieces off a lad who can't fight back," Sean retorted, matching him sneer-for-sneer. "So get on with it -- yeh put enough effort into sneakin' in here, so what were it all for?" He pressed the point of how Merriwether'd gotten in because the man had avoided the question the first time and Sean wanted to know. Gates like the one outside had an access code so the owners could get in when the place was empty and if Merriwether'd had that code, that'd say something about what they were dealing with. He was still suspicious of Cousin William, although if it turned out Wills _were_ Merriwether's contact then Sean was pretty sure the man'd had no idea that his wife would end up involved in this mess nor how.

"I pay boys to climb fences for me," Merriwether shot back. "I walk in through the front. Easy enough to follow some fool who don't know any better than to drive right through and leave it open for the next bloke."

"Oh, aye, _that_ takes brains." Sean gave an unimpressed smirk and returned the first taunt he could think of. "I can just picture it, you hangin' about outside, sittin' there all helpless in hope that someone'd happen to go in or out." He kept up his focus-on-me act on the surface but inside Sean's mind was spinning.

So he hadn't had the gate code -- what'd _that_ mean, then? Anyone in the family would've had it so no matter who his contact was, why wouldn't they have given it to him? Not that Sean'd want to give a bastard like Merriwether the entrance code to _his_ home, but the things were changeable, they had to be. So maybe they'd been wrong all along and he _was_ working on his own?

But if so, then how'd he known where they were? Someone must've tipped him off, especially as fast as he'd shown up. And that still didn't answer the question of why he'd come alone.

"Waitin' for opportunity," Merriwether snarled. "But then, you've never been a lad to recognize opportunity when it were right in front of yeh."

"Opportunity for what?" Sean scoffed. "Takin' the fall for _your_ job? You think I didn't figure out you were setting me up t'go down for it? You'd've had me killin' him next and likely found with a bloody weapon and a body and with yourself off in a restaurant somewhere with a hundred witnesses and no one to say you and I'd ever had any connection at all -- opportunities like that I'll pass on, thanks all the same."

Merriwether grinned. "See, that's why I was interested in you, Bean. You've got a brain in your head an' you even use it now an' again. That were one possibility, aye, but only one and not t'one I'd hoped for. If you'd been smart and gone along, I'd have had some other business t'discuss with yeh, something that might've made us both a nice bit of money. But then with the whinging an' bleating over the lad when all I needed was a finger, then buggerin' off without a word. So what, then? Did he make a better offer? A nice pile of cash for seein' him home? Or did he let yeh have a go at him?" He glanced over and leered at Orlando, his gaze filthy and mocking.

Sean shifted his weight and took a half step to one side, drawing the bastard's attention back where it belonged. "I could've had that whenever I liked," he snarled. "Why would I negotiate for something that's just lying there for the taking?"

"Money, then." Merriwether nodded, his eyes locked back on Sean. "I can understand the impulse but it shows a lack of judgement. You could've gotten a lot more in the long haul if you'd stayed loyal to me."

"Stayed?" Sean put every ounce of scorn into his voice and his expression. "I were never loyal t'the likes of you. My loyalty's for m'family an' my mates."

"And see where that got you," Merriwether mocked. "That worthless brother of yours'll be getting you killed and then what? He still owes me so what was it all for, eh? At least he'll likely take it seriously, once he's an only son."

 

Orlando just stood there, listening to the two men snapping back and forth at one another. His nerves were strung tight and he couldn't move, couldn't say a word, even though Sean had completely missed one vital piece of information or had chosen to ignore it or whatever it was but Orlando was desperate to know -- while dreading the answer -- just _whom_ Merriwether had followed in through the gate and what'd happened to him. It couldn't have been his father because they'd have just come in together; if Merriwether were planning to kill all the witnesses anyway then there was no reason for Lord Rasley to be hiding. He wasn't the squeamish sort when there was a job to be done and while he might not want to dirty his own hands, he didn't shy away from the reality of the situation, either. Very grounded in pragmatic reality was Lord Rasley, at least where anything except his son's nature and life was concerned.

But if it hadn't been him then it was a them, because it could only've been Wills, and Wills had been with Emma so there'd have been two of them in the car and he was hoping they were just tied up somewhere but he was afraid they'd been killed, they must've been because Merriwether was talking about killing Sean and he had to be here to kill Orlando in the first place so why would he leave two witnesses? He wouldn't, that's what, which meant he must mean to kill Rosie too -- and the baby!

Except that didn't work because Wills and Emma hadn't been gone long enough to do their marketing. Emma was particular and there was a farmer's market in Stapford she liked to go to on Tuesdays and the butcher in Lindom Street was her brother-in-law so she always went there and she was never back until there was just barely time to make dinner and dessert was always something from the Colony Bakery because she didn't have time to bake anything herself and that was another stop so--

The frantic babbling in Orlando's head cut off when he spotted something moving in the hall out of the corner of his eye. He kept his head turned toward Merriwether but managed to glance out the door and there was definitely someone there in the shadows away from the windows. Someone walking unsteadily, who might've been knocked out but woke up too soon?

It had to be Wills and he had the presence of mind, even groggy and in as much pain as he must be, to walk quietly. Merriwether was still snarking back and forth with Sean and hadn't noticed him and that gave them a chance if Wills could get close enough, startle him maybe, then Orlando and Sean could--

Except it wasn't Wills and Orlando lost a vital handful of moments goggling at his disheveled and angry looking father.

"I've called the police already," Lord Rasley said, immediately silencing the room and drawing all eyes to him. He looked like he was in pain and now that he was closer and standing in the light, Orlando could see sticky-looking blood gooping up his hair behind one ear and staining the collar of his shirt. "They're on their way so you'd better leave now."

"Uncle Edward!" Rosie sounded happy to see him -- well of course, he'd always liked _her._

Orlando immediately gave himself a mental smack. He was happy to see his father too under the circumstances and if he really had already phoned the police, or even if he could just convince Merriwether that he had, then maybe they had a chance.

Assuming of course that the man didn't just hurry up and shoot them all before he left.

Merriwether swore and the gun wavered for a second while he glanced back and forth between Sean and Orlando in the middle of the room and Lord Rasley at the door. Before Orlando could even register that it was an opportunity, Sean leaped across the intervening space and slammed into Merriwether, one hand grasping the wrist of his gun hand and the other around his throat. He tried to push Rosie aside with his body and snapped, "Move it, lass! Now!"

The waving gun went off twice and chunks of plaster fell out of the ceiling while splinters flew out of the panelling across the room. Rosie screamed and stumbled away, her arms wrapped around her middle. Orlando jumped in, adding his weight to the hand with the gun and wrapping both arms around it, struggling to keep it from pointing at anyone.

Sean leaned back and slammed his forehead hard into Merriwether's face. Orlando heard a crunch that had to be a breaking nose and the man howled and cursed, then levered himself away from the wall and threw all three of them off balance. They went crashing to the floor with Merriwether on top and Orlando fell hard, with something heavy and solid jabbing painfully into his ribs. Sean recovered immediately and heaved the other man off him. Orlando still had a death-grip on the gun arm, though, and Merriwether didn't go as far as Sean might've intended.

Orlando ducked a flying fist that landed in Merriwether's gut, then a heave and shift gave him an opening of his own and he slammed his knee into the man's crotch. He howled in pain and anger and flailed to get free. The gun flew clear of the struggling pile of men and Merriwether jerked away, his grim, determined gaze focused on the weapon.

Sean saw where he was heading and sprang after him, but took an elbow to the temple and collapsed in a cursing heap. Orlando scrambled to his feet to go after the gun himself but Rosie got there first.

She grabbed up the pistol, cocked it expertly, pointed it at Merriwether and fired. The man went down with a blossom of red spattered across his face.

Before Orlando could do more than gasp, it was all over.

"Bastard! Drag me around! Threaten me! Threaten my _baby!_ " Rosie still sounded hysterical but it was overshadowed by furious rage. She walked up to Merriwether and kicked him in the skull, then hissed out a swear word and shook her foot in pain. There was blood and other... stuff smeared on her light canvas shoe but she didn't seem to notice.

Orlando felt his heart slamming in his chest and he suddenly needed to sit down. The tension that'd kept him going and focused was draining away now that there was nothing left to do but wait for the police to arrive. It seemed like it was taking them a long time but really, thinking about it, his father had only come into the room, what, a minute ago? Maybe two?

The thing to do was let Rosie run down, he thought. Now that it was over, she'd be settling down soon enough, start crying or something, and they could get her to a sofa and go find her a cup of tea. She should probably get to her doctor and make sure the stress hadn't done her any harm, nor anything the bastard had done -- who knew what'd happened before he'd hauled her into the drawing room? He might've hit her or something and that should be checked, make sure the baby was all right.

He was so caught up in thinking what to do next to make sure Rosie and the baby hadn't been hurt that what happened next was a complete shock.

"--deceitful bugger!" she snarled, giving Merriwether another kick for good measure. "Forgets just who the hell he is and what he is and who he's working for!" Then she glared up at Orlando and turned the pistol on him. "And _you!"_

Orlando just stood and stared at her, his mouth open to say... what? What could he possibly say?


	13. Chapter 13

"Spoiled little brat!" Rosie spat. "Can't ever do what you're supposed to do, not even when you've been kidnapped! This incompetent _fool--_ " and she paused to give Merriwether another kick, "--hires another pouf when he has hundreds of gangsters of his own! How the hell did he get to be the boss of Sheffield without the brains God gave a mackerel?"

"Rosie...?" Despite all the evidence, and in fact despite the evidence of the dark, wide-open gun barrel pointed right between his eyes, Orlando seemed to still be having a hard time imagining that Rosie, practically his sister-in-law, had been the one behind this all along.

Sean could well believe it and hoped Orlando would get with the program right soon because otherwise he was going to end up dead and then Sean'd have to kill Rosie and he'd really rather not do that. But although his head was still spinning and he had a jackhammer trying to dig its way out of his skull, he was thinking straight and all the pieces were fitting themselves together.

If he'd been willing to imagine that Cousin William had set up the whole kidnapping-and-murder scheme in order to get the title and wealth a bit sooner, then why not his wife? It must've really chapped her arse, to hear her going off about it, being married to the _second_ heir and knowing that someone she obviously scorned as unfit was going to have a lifetime to enjoy all the things she wanted for herself, for her husband and their coming son. Short of some sort of accident or foul play, Orlando would inherit when his da passed on and then live a long life of his own. He and William seemed to be of an age -- William could actually be a mite older but that could just be the fact of a slightly more serious air about him -- so by the time Orlando died, William and Rose would be old themselves. Hell, one or both of them might even predecease him. Which would still leave their son to inherit but obviously that wasn't enough for Cousin Rosie.

And then there was the fact that Orlando just might decide to marry and have an heir of his own some day. He wouldn't be the first gay man to do so even without a title and a pile of money on the line, nor would he be the last.

Orlando didn't seem to get that though because he just stood there and asked, "Why?"

Cousin Rose glared at him from over the gun, her lips twisted with hate. "Because you're a spoiled little brat who can't be bothered to even pretend to do your duty to your family! You don't deserve to be the next Lord Rasley! Everyone knows it! Your own parents barely tolerate your existence and you're the blight of their lives! William should be the heir, William and then our son!"

Orlando took a step back, repelled by the flow of raw hatred, the resentment and envy coming from a woman he'd seemed to've liked.

Rose took a step closer and her lips hardened into a determined grimace. Sean felt a shot of fear surge through him and tried to scramble to his feet, but a wave of dizziness kept him from getting any farther than his knees. He heard a series of quick steps approaching, though, and Lord Rasley moved up past him and stepped between Rose and Orlando.

"Rose, that's enough," he said, in a commanding voice Sean could easily imagine speechifying in the House of Lords. "You're clearly distraught and we all understand that but it's over now. Give me the pistol and we'll await the police. Everything is going to be fine. You shot a man who was threatening to kill us -- it was self-defense and you've nothing to worry about."

"Self-defense?!" Rose shouted. "Is that all you can see? This is an opportunity! You told me yourself you'd disinherit your whining brat of a son if you could! This is better!"

From his position behind and slightly to one side, Sean could see both Lord Rasley freezing at Rose's declaration and Orlando shrinking, his head sinking slightly between hunched shoulders. If the lad were sitting down, Sean had no doubt he'd be curled up with his arms around his knees. He waited for his father to say something, to make a denial or at least say he'd changed his mind, but all he said was, "I told you that in confidence, Rose. And it's irrelevant anyway. Orlando is my heir and that's the end of it. It wasn't for you to take it upon yourself to do anything about it."

"Like hell! I can see where he got his lack of balls from -- you won't even admit to yourself how perfect this is! You're so mad he turned out to be a faggot, you could hardly live with yourself!"

The back of Lord Rasley's head actually showed a stiffening hauteur that Sean would've sworn was impossible before he'd seen it. With a voice like ground steel he said, "I confided in someone I believed to be trustworthy. I was clearly mistaken. You're mistaken as well if you believe I'd allow a member of this family, even an in-law, to go to prison for willful murder."

"But I won't!" Rose sounded eager, as though she'd figured out what the problem was and knew exactly how to fix it. "This one--" and Merriwether got another kick, "--fired the gun so he has residue on his hands! We'll say _he_ killed Orlando! You struggled with him and I got the gun and I shot him, and then _that_ one--" and she waved the pistol at Sean for a moment, "--came at me and I shot him too! He's just another criminal, the actual kidnapper, so no one will care about him either. Then Orlando will be gone and the kingdom will be less two criminals and Will can be your heir the way you always wanted!" She finished and beamed at her uncle-in-law as though expecting to be given a trophy or at least a pat on the head.

"You're insane," Lord Rasley stated flatly. To the man's credit, he didn't even sound tempted. "Give me the gun, Rose. We'll forget you ever said anything. You're clearly hysterical and can't be held responsible for your raving."

Sean saw a flurry of emotions pass over Rose's face -- shock, fury, confusion, desperation, and hardened resolve. She took a step backward and moved the gun to cover Lord Rasley. "Fine," she snapped. "Then I'll kill you too and Will will inherit _now._ "

His lordship could fend for himself so far as Sean was concerned, but he heaved himself to his feet and grabbed Orlando by one arm. He swung him around and gave him a shove out of Rose's line of sight just as an explosive bang shattered his eardrums. He turned back around to see Lord Rasley staggering backward with one hand to his chest and Rose looking around frantically for Orlando, waving the gun and screaming, "Where are you? Where are you, wherewhere _where?!_ " too out of it to even notice that her quarry was less than three paces away, sprawled over one of the sofas.

Sean lunged forward and grabbed her wrist, then latched onto her elbow with his second hand and snapped at least one bone over his knee. She shrieked in pain and anger and the gun fell to the floor with a clonk. It left a scuff on the polished hardwood but luckily didn't go off.

He ignored Rose's agonized howling and bound her wrists, sound one to broken one, behind her back with a drapery tie. Chivalry was all well and good but completely daft murderers on a rampage were sexless so far as he was concerned and he considered that his restraint in not planting his fist in her face for good measure was more than she deserved, pregnant woman or no.

 

Orlando was still trying to process what'd happened. Sean's push had slammed him into the sofa and a corner of the rosewood frame had hit him in the ribs and would doubtless leave a sizeable bruise. For now it was just a dull ache, though, and he had more important matters to concentrate on.

Like re-sorting things in his mind, trying to comprehend that it'd been _Rose_ who'd hired Merriwether to have him kidnapped and killed, that Rose had hated him and wanted him dead, that his cousin Rosie had been behind it all along and that his father hadn't had anything to do with it after all.

Or not directly, anyway. Apparently he'd spoken with Rose about his disappointment with Orlando and somehow given her the impression that he would approve of all this if he knew. That he'd be happy if someone had done him the favor of having his son killed.

And for that matter, when Rose had been raving out her declarations and expectations, his father hadn't actually contradicted her. He'd never said, "No, I couldn't bear it if my son were killed because I love him even if he's not quite what I'd hoped." He hadn't even said, "No, you're wrong, I wouldn't be happy at all to see him dead." He'd never said that. It mustn't have even occurred to him to lie about it in order to persuade Rose to change her mind.

He saw Sean give a quick look in his direction and managed what he was sure was a sickly-looking smile, hoping to reassure him that he was all right. And he was, mostly. He wasn't hurt, at any rate, and he'd deal with the rest.

Sean turned back toward Orlando's father, who'd gone from standing to lying down while Sean had dealt with Rose. He heard Sean ask, "Are the police really coming, then? Or were that just a bluff?"

"Of course they're coming," his father said. His voice was as steady as always, even if it didn't have its usual power. "I said so."

And of course that was the end of it, because whatever Lord Rasley said, _was._

"Well, they're not here yet and from the looks of your shirt we should call for an ambulance now and not wait to let them do it." Sean looked up at Orlando and said, "Where's the phone?"

Orlando said, "Out in the hall." It was an older phone, attached to the wall. Sean would see it immediately, he was sure. Sean nodded and strode out, the only sign he'd taken a blow to the head lately being how close he came to running into the left-hand doorjam on the way out.

Orlando stared at the empty doorway for a moment, then looked down at his father, still lying on the floor. His hair was mussed and his tie was askew and his otherwise-pristine grey shirt was splotched with blood on the left side of his chest. It looked to be dangerously close to his heart, but he was still alive so it must've missed, or maybe bounced off a rib or something of the sort.

His breathing was labored and it was clear he was in pain, although save for gasping for breath he wasn't making a sound. Shock, maybe? Just as likely an absolute refusal to show any weakness in front of his son, assuming he was still aware Orlando was in the room.

Most people would likely have gone over to see how their father was doing, or at least to provide what comfort their presence could offer. Orlando stayed where he was. He knew his presence would be no comfort at all and he could see how the man was doing well enough from where he was.

"Spoiled little brat" Rosie had called him. That was exactly what his father had called him more than once, and exactly the same words Sean had gotten from Merriwether. Orlando didn't know whether the phrase had originally come from his father or whether Rosie had... had what? Passed it on? Deliberately planted it? Just how much of his father's enmity _had_ come from Rosie?

Thinking about it, he realized it might have been quite a lot. Or at least, the last bit that'd made his life really miserable. He and his father had gotten on well enough until the just a few months ago. They'd never been openly affectionate -- Lord Rasley wasn't that sort of man and he'd made his disapproval known regarding Orlando's sexual preference. But they'd managed to be civil to each other until back in... February or so, when somehow it'd all fallen apart.

Had that been when Rose had decided to take an active part in ruining their relationship? Or was that just when Father had "confided" in her and she'd siezed the opportunity to agree with him, reinforce his complaints and push him even farther?

It didn't really matter, Orlando decided. No matter what Rosie had said, his father had been the one who'd listened. He'd been the one who'd escalated their disagreement from uncomfortable but tolerable silences to well-bred but brutal warfare. That'd been his decision, no matter who'd been whispering in his ear from off to one side.

"Orlando...?"

He was actually surprised when his father spoke to him. He thought about it for a moment, then stood up and walked over to kneel nearby. Close enough to see and be seen and converse, but not close enough to touch. "Yes. I'm still here."

"I never...." Lord Rasley trailed off into harsh coughs and his face contorted with pain. When his breathing was back under control, he began again. "I never called the police."

It took Orlando a moment to realize he'd meant before, not that day. That he'd never called the police to tell them his son had been kidnapped. If it'd been anyone else's father, Orlando would assume that the kidnappers had made threats if the police were summoned and that the man had been afraid for the life of his son. In this case, though, Orlando knew better than to assume any such thing.

"They know nothing about the kidnapping," his father continued. "We'll say that that man followed me in and assaulted me because he intended to rob the house. There were more people here than he expected and he panicked and brandished his weapon. He shot me and Rose shot him. She said that other person was working with him -- he attacked Rose and tied her up. You can get the gun and hold him until the police arrive--"

"No," Orlando said flatly. "Sean helped me when no one else would." He didn't expect his father to flinch at that and sure enough, he didn't. "I won't throw him to the wolves. Certainly not to save Rose."

Lord Rasley glared but didn't argue, although he looked like he wanted to. Likely just didn't have the strength. "Fine. You'll have to release Rose before the police arrive, then. He broke in here to rob us, hit me and tied up Rose and your acquaintance can be the hero if you like. Although you'll have to allow for Rose firing off a shot; they have tests now which will prove she did."

"No," Orlando repeated, his voice still hard. "She tried to have me killed just so the title and money would get to her branch of the family -- not even her branch, _Will's_ branch -- one generation faster. She was willing to have me murdered for money and a title and I'm not going to protect her. I'm going to tell the police exactly what happened so when Wills decides to divorce her and sue for sole custody of his son, no one will wonder or feel at all sorry for her."

"The family--"

" _Fuck_ the family!" Orlando jumped up to his feet, his fists balled in rage. "This whole horrid mess is _your_ fault, because _you_ think the family reputation is more important than I am. Rose might've hired that dead bastard there, but _you_ gave her the idea you'd welcome my death and _you're_ the one who didn't pay the ransom or call the police or do one single thing to get me back safely. I don't owe you _anything_ and I'm not going to pretend everything's fine and smile at Rose at Christmas and Easter every year just because _you_ want to keep the 'respectable mask' in place no matter what. And I won't help you force Wills to live with that two-faced bitch for the rest of his life just to 'put a good face on it.' I'm telling the truth, _she's_ going to prison and _you_ can go to hell."

Orlando turned on his heel and all but ran for the door. He needed to get out of there.

He needed Sean.


	14. Chapter 14

Sean was on his way back to the drawing room, having declined the emergency operator's "suggestion" that he stay on the line when he heard Orlando shouting. He made sure she knew where to send the ambulance, then hung up and jogged back down the hall just in time for Orlando to come charging out of the drawing room and run smack into him.

He found himself being thoroughly and desperately kissed, and from the way the lad was clutching at him he was expecting to be climbed like a tree at any moment.

When they finally came up for breath and Orlando had relaxed slightly, Sean said, "There now, relax, it's over." He held on with one arm around his waist while the other rubbed soothing circles across his back. "C'mon, then, buck up. The police should be here any time and the ambulance is on its way."

"I hate him," Orlando whispered into Sean's shoulder. "I hate him so much and I don't even care. It's like he's not my father at all, he's just some man who lives at my house."

Sean couldn't fathom hating his own father but he could easily imagine hating Orlando's so he just said, "Easy, relax now. It's all over but the mopping up."

Speaking of which, Sean didn't remember Lord Rasley's injuries actually gushing blood or anything but it'd been a few minutes after all and they already had one body to explain. He gave Orlando another hug and said, "You go wait by the phone and let them in, yeah? I wouldn't know what button to press or whatever it is to open the gate. I'll go make sure your da doesn't bleed to death before the ambulance gets here."

"Do us all a favor if he did," Orlando muttered, hanging on tight before letting Sean disentangle him. "He wanted to cover up for Rosie, blame everything on you to keep the 'family reputation unstained.'" He said that last bit in an angry, sneering voice.

"He can say whatever he likes but I never touched that gun and no one can prove I did," Sean said, forcing his voice to stay calm. In reality he wasn't so sure he was in the clear, at least not completely. He hadn't killed anyone but he _had_ kidnapped Orlando when all was said and done and he had a feeling he'd have to answer for that no matter what the lad thought or wanted. That was for later, though. "Go on, then," he said. He gave Orlando a light push in the direction of the phone and headed into the drawing room.

Cousin Rose was still where they'd put her, glaring at him fit to kill. He ignored her and looked around for something... there. He grabbed a small cushion off the sofa and pressed it down onto Lord Rasley's chest, over the worst of the blood stain. It'd soaked through his shirt and down and formed a small pool on the floor, but not enough to get excited about, Sean didn't think. The man'd been lucky; the bullet must've missed his heart and any major blood vessels.

He just knelt there, holding the cushion against the wound. Lord Rasley stared up at him for a minute, looking a bit groggy, then said, "You missed."

Sean frowned down at him. "Missed what?"

"If you mean to smother me, you've placed the cushion too low."

Sean snorted. "I'm trying to keep you from losing any more blood. If you'd rather die, though, I can likely find something else to do."

Another few moments of silence passed. Then, "Out of the goodness of your heart, I suppose."

"Not hardly. I'd just as soon let you die and the world well rid of a cold-hearted bastard, beggin' yer lordship's pardon." Sean managed to keep most of the sarcasm out of his voice. "But Orlando already feels enough guilt over this mess, not that any of it were _his_ fault, and I'll not have him fancying your blood on his hands as well."

He'd half expected Lord Rasley to burst into some diatribe justifying his actions but instead he just looked away. Eventually his eyes closed, although Sean could tell by his breathing and the occasional shift or tense of a muscle that he was still conscious. That was fine; he'd no particular desire to have any sort of long, drawn-out conversation with the man. He likely thought he was above justifying himself to the likes of Sean anyway.

The room stayed silent, none of the three occupants feeling like conversation. Sean kept an even pressure on the cushion on Lord Rasley's chest and wondered what was going to happen next until the faint whine of a police siren drifted in through the window.

 

Orlando paced.

He paced up and down the hall, his movements stiff and jerky. He chewed on a thumbnail and looked up at the phone every other step.

His mind was running in place like a mouse on a wheel, going as hard as it could but not getting anywhere.

It was all over, but it wasn't. He was safe now, and since Merriwether was dead he imagined Sean's family was too. Rosie would go to prison because she had to and no other possible outcome was allowed to enter his mind, much less settle down and take off its shoes, but beyond that he'd no idea what was going to happen.

It was all over, but it was a mess. It was like finally finding the thing you'd torn your room apart searching for, only to turn around and realize what a mess you'd made in the process. The immediate problem, the whole kidnapping plot thing, was solved, but now what? What would it take to clean everything up and set it all to rights again?

He paced and worried and wondered until he heard the police approaching. He opened the gate for them and headed for the front door.

 

The police talked to Orlando, and to Sean and Lord Rasley and Rose, each separately and in Lord Rasley's case briefly. They called the coroner to take away Merriwether, sent Lord Rasley and Rose away in the ambulance, and took Sean away themselves. Nothing Orlando said could dissuade them and Sean himself seemed to have expected it.

Wills and Emma came home in the middle of all the fussing and Wills managed to hold Orlando back when he would've made more of a fuss than would've been prudent, whispering harshly in his ear about solicitors and being able to help more from _this_ side of the bars, and that was enough to calm him down.

When they'd all gone, Orlando realized that Wills had no idea what had happened and it was left to him to tell the story, then to lead his shocked cousin into the house and pour whiskey down him until he fully grasped that his life too had fallen apart while he'd been off doing the marketing.

 

Lord Rasley died on the way to hospital. The bullet had nicked a major vein and it'd been seeping while he lay on the floor. The jolting of the ambulance over country roads had been enough to tear it fully open, though, and he'd bled out despite all the attendants could do.

Orlando's mother arrived at Wills's house to discover she was a widow, she having been the third person Orlando called after the family solicitor and then the other solicitor their family man had recommended, one who specialized in criminal defense. After he'd explained the situation and made arrangements for the competent-sounding woman to meet Sean and work on getting him out, he'd called his mother.

Lady Catherine had screamed into the phone upon hearing his voice, babbled thanks and disbelief and shock around his abridged version of the explanation he'd given the solicitor, then gone for the car and driven over immediately. Orlando'd received a phone call from the hospital a good half hour before she arrived.

He told her, as gently as he could in the flat, emotionally-detached state he was in, that her husband was dead. She took it rather well. But then, she was already shocked and near hysterics and one more thing wasn't going to make much difference. And it wasn't as though she'd been madly in love with the man anyway.

 

The buried Lord Rasley four days later. The new Lord Rasley and the Dowager Viscountess ignored the cameras through the funeral service. On their way back to the black limousine, reporters shouted questions about the kidnapping and various family involvements, but they just walked to the car, got in and were driven away.

They hosted a reception at their home, from which the press was barred. Friends and relatives and business associates filed through all afternoon to pay their respects and express sympathy for the bereaved family. Lord Rasley and Lady Catherine greeted them all, graciously accepted the comforting words and saw them all away again.

Wills was there, looking a decade older in his sober black suit, standing alone. He stayed all afternoon but didn't say much to anyone, although he did mention to Orlando that the same family solicitor who'd recommended Sean's defense lawyer was working on his divorce from Rose.

Sean wasn't there because he was still in jail. Orlando wasn't sure he'd have been there in any case. He wasn't sure of anything anymore -- he was just getting through each day, each hour, each step and word and gesture. It was all flat and dead and he was existing and wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to really live again.

The frightening thought was that, as he looked back, this really wasn't all that different from how he'd felt for the last few months -- dodging his father, sneaking out of the house, losing himself in the clubs and alcohol and faceless, urgent sex. He'd been looking for someone who could help him -- _make_ him -- feel something, anything, someone who could touch him and bring him back into the world and make him a part of it again. He hadn't even been looking to be happy necessarily, but rather to feel something besides this empty waiting, like a man-shaped hole walking around looking for something to fill it. He hadn't found anything until he'd met Sean.

Sean, who'd only been with him for a couple of days and was now gone again. And would possibly be gone for a decade or more, depending on how things worked out except Orlando couldn't think about that without breaking so he didn't.

 

Orlando was buried in business, between following Sean's trial and testifying, after several hours of rehearsal in the barrister's chambers and multiple reminders that emotional outbursts on the stand would _not_ help his friend; and testifying at Rose's trial and struggling to keep his temper once again although for rather different reasons; and learning all he could about British Western Steel, as fast as possible; and being thankful that Wills was the executor of the estate so at least he didn't have to fret over _that;_ and going to London for his investiture and being thankful the Lords weren't in session so he could put _that_ off with a clear conscience.

It didn't _have_ to be that much work. The firm had competent management and Orlando wouldn't have been the first owner to just sit back and collect the profits. There'd always been peers who never took their seat in the Lords, even back when it meant a lot more than it did in the twenty-first century; no one would throw rocks if he completely ignored politics. And he was already paying for Sean's defense, which was more than most people in his position would do.

He had a need, though, a stubborn determination to prove that he'd be a good Viscount Rasley. That his being gay had nothing to do with it, that he could be intelligent and responsible and hard-working. That he _wasn't_ a disgrace to the family.

He knew that, of course, but he still felt a need to prove it. And if some people misunderstood -- if some of the senior managers at BW and some of his father's old friends and cronies clapped him on the shoulder and told him he was doing his father proud, and one or two even said they were pleasantly surprised because, well, at any rate he was doing a fine job -- he was still able to give them each a polite nod and his thanks. Because they meant well.

 

Somehow, the birth of Jonathan Anthony Bloom, on October fifth, put a period to what Orlando had come to think of as "all that mess." Lady Catherine, who'd been drifting about at a loss, trying to work out how to mother a grown up and very busy young man now that her husband was no longer telling her that emotional displays were improper, had a baby to focus on and was actually smiling again. Maybe it wasn't a grandson but it was close enough, a blood relative who was willing to smile and laugh and babble at her. Orlando was relieved that his mother was so caught up with baby Jonny; he did love her and he understood that she'd always loved him, even if she'd been bullied out of showing it very much, but he couldn't just completely change his relationship to her or the image of her he'd been carrying in his head for over twenty years. He thought they'd eventually slide into something more comfortable -- he hoped so, anyway -- but it'd take time.

After months of hard days and late nights, he finally had enough of a grasp of British Western's operations that he felt comfortable getting out of the officers' hair and relying on the weekly reports and bi-weekly meetings his father had used to reassure himself that things were going smoothly. Orlando was relieved and he had a feeling the senior managers and officers he'd been shadowing were as well. Back to business as usual, now that he knew enough to follow all the signs and signals.

Rosie was in the Carrisford Women's Prison and would be there for a minimum of twelve years, having been convicted of murder and conspiracy to hire a murder. She'd had Jonny in the prison hospital and been allowed to nurse him once before he was taken away by a matron and handed to a social worker who delivered him to his father. Orlando didn't know how Rose had felt about that and didn't particularly care. The solicitor had said she'd be able to petition for visitation once she was out of prison; Wills could worry about that when the time came.

 

And the day after Jonny's birthday, Orlando was standing outside the courthouse in Sheffield, waiting for Sean to emerge. He'd stood in the back of the courtroom to hear the verdict and after the magistrate had droned on about circumstances and duress and substantive fear for the lives of his family, the final acquittal hit Orlando like a hammer to the back of his head and he'd had to leave because if he'd stayed he'd have done or said something and he wasn't sure what but he'd known it'd be bad or at least extremely embarassing so he'd left and waited outside.

Which had just given him more time to fret.

What was he there for? To thank Sean one more time? To give Sean a chance to thank _him?_ To pass on news? Would Sean really care what Wills had named the baby?

He knew how he'd imagined their meeting to go, their first opportunity to speak alone since Sean's arrest. He'd thought about it and daydreamed about it and had even had some rather absorbing dreams about it at night. Time had given him perspective, though, and it wasn't at all realistic to expect ardent devotion from someone he barely knew, someone who barely knew him, someone who probably thought of him as a nuisance and a bad memory. Sean might not've been sentenced to prison but he'd been in jail because of Orlando and subjected to a public trial and everyone knew he _had_ kidnapped someone, which would likely cause problems for him with at least some people, legal acquittal or no.

Not that reality had anything to do with what Orlando wanted, with what he _still_ wanted after all these months. It'd changed of course -- it could hardly not. Those few days had been like huddling in the eye of a storm, tense and dull and worrisome and desperate, waiting for the violence that was coming. It'd made him frightened and clingy and needy and Sean's competent strength, and even the aura of danger about him, had seemed wonderfully comforting.

He knew he'd changed and he could only imagine Sean had as well. If nothing else, he'd need to get to know the person Sean was when he _wasn't_ being pressured into criminal actions -- who he was at work, with his family, with his friends.

And maybe with some luck, he'd find out how Sean was with a lover, too. So he waited outside the courthouse.


	15. Chapter 15

By the time Sean actually walked out of the courthouse, after the hugs and congratulations and papers to sign and copies to save and after finally getting away from a couple of reporter blokes who just wouldn't go away until Sean had stammered out a few words that he couldn't even remember just then -- after all that when he finally walked out with his mum on one arm and Katie on the other, Tommy being dragged along by his wife, he was almost surprised to see that the sky was still blue and the sun still shone down from the same angle it always had and the traffic going by on the street looked perfectly normal.

Sean sucked in a deep breath of fresh air and was just starting to relax when his mum said, "Isn't that your young man?"

He spotted Orlando a moment later after sighting down his mum's not-really-discreetly-pointing finger, and suddenly couldn't breathe at all.

His feet kept moving down the broad steps and he let the women steer so he didn't run into anything. Unfortunately that meant he was steered right up to Orlando, who was standing near the sidewalk with his hands stuffed into his trouser pockets, looking like he was thinking about finding something to hide under.

All he could do was look into Orlando's eyes, searching for the answer to a question he hadn't thought of yet. While he tried to jump-start his brain, his mum was shaking Orlando's hand and saying things like, "Thank you so much," and "such a nice young man," and "must come over t'house," and the next thing Sean knew he was being bundled into Orlando's green Triumph while his mum hung on Orlando's sleeve and gave him a list of directions, accompanied by a waving forefinger.

If he'd been, well, in his right mind or at all himself, Sean knew he'd be blushing like a lad. As it was, he just sat there and waited until Orlando got in and pulled into traffic, all the while wondering whether he were going to wake up and find himself back in his cell.

Orlando gave him a bemused grin and said, "Well, I've been given my marching orders so we'd better do this or she'll hunt me down. Which way to your place?"

"Umm, down one more and then left." Sean managed to think coherently enough to give directions but most of his brain was occupied with trying to remember what to do with his hands. And where to look. Because he wanted to just look at Orlando, wanted to touch, at least a shoulder, but that didn't seem right so he kept rubbing his trouserlegs and looking around outside, through the window on his side at the buildings going past.

"She said you're to have a shower and change and then I'm to bring you over to their house for a party. It sounds like most of your neighborhood is going to be there."

"Umm. Aye, I suppose." Sean didn't really feel like a party, although on the other hand having a crowd of mates to disappear into, to say nothing of a few beers, might be a decent notion.

They drove in silence for a few minutes, broken only by Sean's brief directions and Orlando's briefer acknowledgements. Finally, though, Orlando glanced over at him for just a moment and said, "I'm not going to ask how it was because that would be asinine. But are you all right _now?_ And your family? There hasn't been any more trouble with Merriwether's gang?"

"No, they're leaving it alone," Sean said, his voice low and rough. He swallowed, then added, "I'm fine. Or will be. I just need a sleep in my own bed, maybe do some walking around." Walking -- that'd be grand. To be able to just start walking in any direction he liked and keep going until he felt like stopping, that was suddenly what he wanted to do more than anything.

It wasn't like it'd been all that rough, really. It was only jail and only a few months. His mum had come to visit every day, Katie once a week and his da the same. Tommy'd come a few times when Katie hauled him in, although he'd pretty obviously not wanted to be there and he'd behaved with a weird combination of shame and belligerence that Sean understood perfectly. Tommy was still feeling guilty over Sean getting into that much trouble over something stupid he'd done himself and he didn't quite know what to do with the feelings.

Sean understood that perfectly because he wasn't sure what to do with his either. He'd never been one to run on about how he'd felt -- that was one of the bonuses of going out with the lads in his opinion, not having to get all flowery with words or even having to _say_ every bloody thing. Lads just knew, and if they didn't then it probably wasn't all that important anyway.

Except that sometimes it was, or it might be, and then you were fucked 'cause you didn't have much practice with the right words.

 

Sean seemed to be a bit out of it so after a couple of conversational gambits fizzled, Orlando just let him be except for getting directions and finally found a parking place within a block of a mellow brick building where Sean had a flat.

He followed Sean up and ran the water for him while he undressed, only to find himself face-to-face with a very naked Sean in the hall.

Orlando sucked in a breath and looked. He couldn't help it, really.

What flashed through his mind first was every scene from prison films where the men hang out lifting weights all day. Not that Sean looked like a bodybuilder, or even like someone who'd been working out for the last decade or whatever but one could do a bit of an anatomy lesson on his body, here and there, and it definitely looked good on him.

Moving up, though, his face was from a whole different film and that's what made Orlando step forward. Because the combination of uncertainty and wanting and hesitancy and even fear made it obvious that Orlando had about two seconds to react before the moment would be past and Sean would have his armor on again so he gripped one hand against the back of Sean's head and the other clamped onto his upper arm and he kissed him.

Even then it seemed like it might be too late -- whether half a second too late or half a year too late or whatever because Sean went rigid against him and for a panicked moment Orlando was sure he was going to pull away and step back and either explain exactly why this wouldn't work or (more likely) just push past Orlando into the bathroom and shut the door in his face.

But instead he relaxed and kissed back.

His arm went pliable and it and its mate wrapped around him and hung on. His tongue invaded and entered Orlando's mouth, along with a low moan that reminded Orlando of the sound one made when one settled into bed after a long day -- comfort and relief.

There was some initial clutching and gasping, but then it all slowed down. Orlando's clothes fell to the bathroom floor one piece at a time and although it was awkward and he almost lost his balance when he was toeing his right shoe off while Sean tugged his only-mostly-unbuttoned shirt over his head, Sean's arms around him reminded him of their time in the cottage when he'd been dizzy and blinded and Sean had kept him from falling.

They moved one awkward step at a time, Orlando backward and Sean foreward, toward the shower, through the increasingly steamy air in the small, windowless room. By the time he felt hot water pounding into his naked flank, washing -- or even getting Sean washed -- was the last thing on his mind.

There was soap of course, and it passed from hand to hand. Likewise shampoo. It all made things wonderfully slippery and their bodies slid against each other in a way that made Orlando want to just brick up the door and stay there forever. Although when Sean's hand wrapped around him and pumped he suddenly wanted it all to go much faster and who said it was only women who were allowed to change their minds?

Of course in order to be changed a mind had to have thoughts in it in the first place and right then Orlando's mind didn't qualify. All it had in it were feelings -- pleasure and tense and close and desperate and warm and tight and almost and slick and _now!_ and then the next thought to enter his mind, to actually take shape and have a concrete presence in his brain, was that Sean was carrying him again and he really liked that.

Sean must like it too because he did it a lot. That meant it was likely to happen quite often in the future and that thought made Orlando even happier.

Just as he was snuggling up against Sean's shoulder, though, gravity rotated. Before he could even squawk, he fell and bounced on something soft. He opened his eyes and saw a neat bedroom, the walls painted white with a several prominent football banners tacked up here and there.

The room smelled of polish and fabric softener. Its overall level of neatness didn't really match its haphazard decor, if one could even call it decor. Nothing matched and extra, purely decorative pieces such as a headboard on the bed or a mirror over the dresser were missing. Orlando was pondering the likelihood that Sean's mother or sister-in-law had been in to clean recently when Sean was back and Orlando's focus shrank back down to the looming body above him and the handful of supplies -- a tube of lubricant and a small stack of condoms -- which had appeared with a smack on the pillow next to his head.

Orlando began to count the condoms and stopped at three. He grinned up at Sean and wrapped his arms around the man's neck to pull him down closer. "Feeling ambitious?" he asked, his voice light and teasing.

Sean searched his face and was clearly pleased with what he found because he grinned back and swooped down to plant a kiss on the end of Orlando's nose. "It's been a while," he said with obviously feigned nonchalance. "Besides, I want to take advantage before yeh come to yer senses."

There was just a hint of uncertainty in that last bit so Orlando wrapped his legs around Sean's hips and anchored him down. "I thought the whole point of sex was to get to the point where you're not thinking at all?" He flexed his hips and rubbed up against Sean's still-hard cock.

"Well, aye, you've a point there." Sean kissed Orlando's nose again, then his cheek, then the point of his chin. Orlando snarled and tilted his face down to ambush the wandering mouth with his own and they devoured each other for a good long while, letting their hands wander, exploring one another.

Sean's hand wandered lower and gave Orlando's erection, which was working on making a comeback, some attention before reaching over for the lube. An unmeasurable time later, Sean slid three fingers out of Orlando's arse and then immediately filled it back up with his sheathed cock.

Orlando gasped and threw his head back onto the pillow, hard, his body arching up into the thrust.

Sean pulled out and slid back in, his movements smooth and deliberate. It was great, really it was, but no matter how eagerly Orlando thrust back to meet him, he refused to speed up or thrust harder. Orlando didn't know what the problem was but he knew how to fix it. He reached out for leverage, then gave a quick push and a twist and a moment later Sean was looking up at him through shock-widened eyes and Orlando was on top.

Then he lifted up and dropped back down, giving his hips a bit of a twist at the bottom. Sean's eyes rolled back in his head and his pelvis took over all by itself, or at any rate that's what it felt like and that was enough to clue Orlando in that the change in position had been a good idea.

"There," he panted, riding fast and hard, "being a... slut is... good for... something"

Sean regained enough coherent consciousness to blink, then stare up at him hard and make a low noise that sounded like a growl. _"My_ slut," he muttered. He reached up and pulled Orlando down so their chests slammed together, their hips still pistoning.

Orlando ran his hands through Sean's hair -- he'd cut it short in jail and it was as soft as cut velvet. "Your slut," he agreed, then he kissed him hard and sped up again.

 

It was a good hour and three-quarters later before they finally pulled up in front of Sean's parents' house. They'd had to take another shower after and Orlando'd had to borrow a shirt because the one he'd been wearing had been trampled on the bathroom floor during both showers. Even if Orlando'd thought working it over with a hair dryer might've solved the problem, which he really didn't, Sean didn't own one.

Orlando would've been just as happy to spend the rest of the day and the next several after that in bed, but Sean had family waiting for him and there were just some things one had to do for family.

So instead he was heading up the front walk wearing one of Sean's nicer button-downs. The shoulders were a bit big and he'd rolled up the sleeves -- though they were the same height their proportions were different enough that they likely wouldn't be sharing clothes all that often, at least outside the house, and the thought that they'd likely _be_ sharing a house at some point was enough to change Orlando's smile from the forced, fake one he'd put on to hide his nerves into a sunny, genuine one which probably made him look like a goof but he was happy enough that he didn't care.

Sean opened the front door without knocking and ushered Orlando in with a comforting hand at the small of his back. They were immediately surrounded by Sean's family and friends, shouting and cheering and waving food and drink.

It was pretty obvious that Sean's mother knew exactly what'd been going on in the two hours and however much since she'd sent them off together; she raised an eyebrow at the shirt, then reached up and brushed a hand through Orlando's curls and scolded him for going out in the chill with his hair still damp.

He was more than willing to believe she'd known exactly what was what when she'd corralled him into driving Sean and the idea that she'd known and approved made his smile even wider. He apologized and gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She twinkled up at him, bustled him to a chair at the crowded dining table and heaped food on his plate.

Sean claimed the chair next to him, ousting a teenage cousin, and they both dug into the food. It was different from what Orlando was used to but it was good and it fit in with the rest of the house, the party, the people -- not overly fancy perhaps, but solid and comforting.

Orlando relaxed and leaned against Sean, just enough for their shoulders to press together. He began to eat, watching and listening and laughing and nodding and let the feeling of family soak in. He liked it and he hoped they'd let him stay.


End file.
